Better Man
by SephirothChild15
Summary: She lies and says she still loves him, because she'll never find a better man.
1. Lightning Rod

Author's Warning : You hear that sound? it's the sound of your childhood memories being raped. Anything sweet and fuzzy you remember about Yu Gi Oh is about to be torn asunder. I think I could make a darkfic out of Tetris, so this story is no different. It contains graphic sexual content, abuse, angst, and over all darkness. It also contains brief mentions of incest and pedophilia.

As for the cannon-ness of this story: This story begins around season two/three, when the gang disembarks from the blimp.

Title is from "Better Man" by Pearl Jam. Totally recommend groove-sharking the song before you read.

Pairings: Focused on abusive SilentShipping. Potential side pairings.

* * *

It was only for a moment that I saw his form, tall and thin like a lightning rod. It barely registered in my mind — after all, my brother was _this close _to drowning — but that doesn't change how he affected me. I imprinted on him like a baby bird, a weak and fragile creature cowering before his awe-inspiring defiance even as the world threatened to crash around us with the weight of an anchor, taking two lives with it.

And somewhere in my mind, that's why I fell in love with him. If my world was in complete darkness, and my life in the harshest of storms, he was the lightning. He was the violent and sudden _light _that tore through the world, my body, and my heart in sharp spears.

There's nothing more dangerous and beautiful than being open and vulnerable to a lightning strike.

* * *

Definition: Imprint is used here as a psychological/biological term. It is the phenomena in which a young of a species attaches itself to, and emulates, another older animal.

Redone and re-uploaded thanks to my wonderful Beta.


	2. When You Were Young

When You Were Young

When I was a little girl, my mother would take my brother and me to the old church down on the corner of South Elm. It was the oldest building in the city and mossy vines had begun to creep up the old castle-like river stones. The giant clock tower seemed like it reached straight up to God himself, and its church bells sent a baritone ring reverberating throughout the city streets every Sunday at 9 am sharp.

My mother would spend all of Saturday night pressing my little white eyelet dress, and all of Sunday morning rolling my reddish hair into sausage curls. I'd wake up to the smell of my brother's starched dress shirts and mom's sweet, sweet perfume. She'd bribe and threaten my brother until he wriggled his way into a dress shirt and tie. Mom never took care of herself much, but always made sure her bobbed hair was sleek and straight and would swipe on a layer of coral lipstick before she hurried us all out the door. She would dress us in matching colors, and much to my brother's dismay that meant that we sometimes were dressed in pink."It's so they know we're family." She'd say. "And family always sticks together"

My brother would have his shirt untucked and his tie skewed nearly a block before that old stone exterior came into sight. The older ladies in the wide brimmed hats would talk to momma about how they were praying for her to have strength. God would save my father's soul, they said. And Jesus would heal me, because he had healed the sick before.

Perhaps I didn't have enough faith, or perhaps I was beyond healing. For as far back as I could remember, I was in one hospital or another for one of those hard to pronounce medical labels that they tagged my charts with. I had been born three months premature, with underdeveloped lungs and a poor immune system.

I never had health, so I couldn't really miss it. However, I was also born with retinopathy of prematurity. As twisted as this sounds, I wish I was born blind. Perhaps that would take away the sting of watching my world slowly grow black from this cruel disease. My colors faded and became less vibrant. The sharp edges of objects became fuzzy, and faces became one flesh colored blurry circle. I had sight in the technical sense up until I was 14 years old. I was legally blind since age ten.

So in every Sunday morning of my childhood, I'd sit patiently in the second to last pew, and wait for Jesus to come save me. Of course, I wouldn't be able to see him, but I could imagine his presence. I could imagine that he would speak like a gentleman - a deep, kind voice offering sanctuary to all - and he'd smell like the entire natural world in one spicy, earthy scent.

But today instead of a cozy, warmly-lit church, I'm sitting on the cold dock outside of the city limits as the daylight dies and gives birth to night. Icy winds blows in from the ocean, cutting through my jacket like knifes and sending chills up my back. My nose and cheeks are painted cherry red from windburn and my nose is running a bit.

I let my eyes wonder to my brother. He's some twenty feet away from me, shouting into a decrepit old payphone next to a crumbling whitewash warehouse. His blond poof of hair is the only pop of color in this urban jungle of faded grays and muted whites. He slams his fingertips down on the rusted coin return button. His face twists with frustration

As of now, I'm officially homeless. I mouth those words to myself, diligently letting the bitter finality of each syllable roll across my tongue. I reach into my jacket pocket, digging past the crinkling cellophane candy wrappers and balls of fuzz. My fingers wrap around smooth metal. It's warm from my body heart, even though the wind has made me cold. It's the key that I thought would open to door to my home, to my mother, and to a possible chance at a normal life. Underneath that is the paper that that took that chance away.

_13 October 2008  
To Ms. Serenity Michelle Wheeler:_

_As you know, Lillian Paige Wheeler died on August 12 2008. At the time of death, Ms. Wheeler accumulated debt totaled $71, 983.64. Approximately $59,843 was in medical bills for her minor child, $10,096 for mortgage through Domino Banking, and $2000 for miscellaneous. _

_As the next of kin it was your legal right to first claim her estate. However, the three months grace period has terminated, and the numerous attempts to contact you have failed, and this is taken as a decline to claim. Under this refusal, the remainder of her estate has been reclaimed as payment for her debts._

_Sincerely,_

_State Attorney General _

It had all happened so nonchalantly. As soon as I had planted one foot on solid ground, a tall and expressionless man with a Kaiba Corp lapel pin placed this sealed envelope in my hand without a word. There was no fanfare. Instead of even wondering about its contents I just folded it haphazardly and shoved it into my pockets before turning back to Mai and Teá for more giggling about those pictures Mai took of Duke and Tristan sleeping in the same bed together. It wasn't until we all kissed each other on the cheek and I walked back to my brother did I even think about checking what the note said.

If I had known then what I know now, I would have opened it immediately. It wouldn't have changed the message within. The bold printed words would have still sketched the picture of a dark dissolution, but I would have felt that it was one last honor to my late mother. I could have put her before childish chatter. She had put me before everything and everyone for my entire life and I couldn't even be bothered to be told that I had missed her death.

I still don't know how she died.

.As another gust of wind blows, I place the paper flat down on my palm and watch as the currents of wind lift up the corners like it's a tiny parachute. It's so blustery near the docks and my ratty hoodie isn't doing enough to counteract the fact that I'm wearing threadbare shorts.

I don't know why I keep staring at the letter. It's not like the words are going to change. The print is still just as stark against the creamy parchment, the message just as bleak. I just can't help but study it all, and try to feel something. My mom had buried herself in nearly 100,000 dollars in debt, for my medical bills, and I haven't even cried. I don't even feel connected to my own body.

I release my grip on the parchment, instead offering it to the world. I watch the letter twist and turn with the wisps of wind before blowing into oblivion.

I hear the crunch of my brother's dollar store sneakers on the pavement and his muddy soles come into view. I follow the creases in Joey's unkempt clothes up his body until my eyes reach his face. I thank god and the many doctors that I can see finally see him clearly, but why does he have to look so haggard? His eyes are dull, and face slack. I hesitate, not understanding the relevance. At this angle Joey looks less like the brother I remember, and more like a man that was forced to grow too old too soon. If he noticed the fact that I let our mother's death notification be swept away, he doesn't say."Any luck?"I attempt to make my voice cheerful, but it just sounds forced. I wonder if Joey can tell.

He shakes his head. "None. Tristan's mom isn't too keen on the idea of a girl staying with him, so that counts you out. Yugi lives above that little game shop, so he's only got the room for one of us and even then it's cramped. And Teá is going to be in and out of rehearsals and practices for the next month and she doesn't want a guy there while she's in her little skimpy practice outfits," Joey counted off on his fingers as he spoke. "So I was thinking, I can stay at Tristan's and you can stay at Yugi's for a bit, or maybe you could call Teá and explain -"

"No!" I cut him off sharply. "I don't want to be separated again!"I slammed my palms own on my knees like a spoiled child before I even realized what I was doing. I sounded like such a brat at that moment and he seemed confused by my sudden outburst. "Joey, I just lost mom, you can't make me lose you too!" I turned my head away from him like an agitated child.

Joey's breath came out in a vexed whoosh. I see by the way his jaw is tightened that he's grinding his teeth. "We may not have a choice," Joey crouched down until he was eye level with me. He put his palm to my cheek and forced me to look at him. His eyes are red and watery from stress and fatigue. "Sis, I love you, you know damn well that I do. I'm not going to be like Dad and let the one I love go without,"

"And I won't be like Mom and break this family up again,"

That came out meaner than I had intended but I don't apologize. Joey grumbled to himself as, he shifted his weight until he was sitting next to me on the cold sidewalk. "Too bad you don't have some of those painkillers from your last surgery. I could've slung some percs with some old friends,"

I don't answer. I don't know what some of those words mean, but I do know the implications. The streets in this city have never been "clean". Crime, drugs, despair, inadequacy – they are all just part of growing up in the city and as a child from the city, it makes sense for this to be my destiny: homeless at age sixteen, a dead mother, and a dead beat father.

This isn't at all how I imagined it to be – having no place to go. I remember being a little girl in the city, barely old enough to toddle behind my mother as she pulled me through the lunch hour rush of dark suited business men. I had been so frail and the winters so fierce that my mother would bundle me in a cocoon of down, wool, and flannel so thick that I could barely put my arms down. I would hide behind Momma's skirt tails, taking peeks at vagrants and old beggar men loitering around trash-can fires in alleyways. Sometimes I didn't even realize the heaps of urine soaked rags in the streets were actual people. My little pigtailed head couldn't fathom that horrific sense of isolation, the utter hopelessness of having nowhere to go and nowhere to turn to. The idea of being as unwanted the last kitten left in the give-a-way box sent literal aches through my thin chest. I remember tears sliding down my face and turning into red streaks against the cold wind. I would cry for the people that no one else bothered to even look at.

Now that I'm in the same position, I feel disturbingly numb. Shouldn't there be some feeling of depression? I had always expected to feel despair and violent self pity. It scares me that my heart is so empty.

"Hey, sis," Joey grunts. It shakes me out of my mental monologue and I see him studying the pavement. He kicks through the tiny bits of dead leaves, cigarette butts, and dust bunnies. A weird ball of dust and dead hair blew over the concrete like an urban tumble weed. My mother's death letter will soon become urban refuge as well. I imagine its creamy parchment coming to rest in a dusty corner, decaying, and crumbling. "Who do you think buried mom?"

"It's usually up to the state to put them away," I said simply. I wonder where mom is buried now. She'd probably wanted to be buried at that little church.

"Do you think they at least made her pretty?"

"It'd be impossible to not make mom pretty." I say, though I'd only seen her face a few times. I mostly say it for Joey's sake.

I close my eyes and say a short prayer to a God. It's the same prayer I have said every day since I was a little girl. God can have my soul. God can have my body too, even though according to most doctors it's too broken to be of any use to anyone. I would even relinquish my eyesight again, if God would just take me back to the days when I was child; when my mom and dad and brother would gather around the breakfast table in our little ran down apartment. I want to go back to those days before dad started loving booze and gambling more than us, and mom "fell down the stairs" on almost a weekly basis. I don't have much to give, but I would give it all, if God would just fix it to where I would be that little pigtailed girl again, trailing behind my mom to that church made of stones older than Abraham.

With the gust of wind, a rich spicy scent cut through the air in thick tendrils. My eyes shoot open, my brain scrambling scrambled for pieces of information, attempting to separate fantasy from reality, past from present, and trying to identify this new feeling. Euphoria, hope! That homey, warm cinnamon smell lingered with hints of comforting musk, a combination of all things earthy and safe. My heart beats in tiny, fearful beats, quick as a little rabbit's. This doesn't seem real, this seems like Christmas to a child who never thought that day would come.

Was this all a part of my delusional mind? I'm almost afraid to move, I'm afraid to breath. I'm afraid that any movement will jar me from this pleasant fantasy and I'll be back on that dock, cold and lonely and lost. I don't turn my head; I just stare out into the grayness of the warehouses and asphalt.

I hear a voice, a low tone filled to the brim with confidence and stability, and everything that I lack. A deep, gravelly voice, laced with hope.

"You can come with me," He says


	3. Meltdown

Author's Note: In the comments, someone said they were afraid of how dark this could get. So in hopes of helping with that I'm going to put a warning at the beginning of each chapter to outline any potential offensive material.

Language: Two uses of the "F" word.

Darkness: 6-7ish. (It gets happier next chapter, I promise)

No sex/drugs/rock and roll.

* * *

"You can come with me,"

Those words steal my breath - and my soul - from my body. The flood gates of my subconscious burst open, and my cognitive reasoning drowns in the currents of foolish memories. For a moment, I become a mannequin, too stupid to form a rational thought under the onslaught of repressed girlish hopes. I turn my head slowly, almost mechanically towards the voice. All my vertebrae creak with the stiffness of my movements like some type of broken machinery. I don't breathe until I see that Seto Kaiba is standing behind me, with Mokuba scurrying close behind his coattails. The only reason I know for sure that I am alive is because I can feel my heart fluttering against my ribcage

"H-huh?" My voice creaks like an un-oiled machine.. From where I sit, Seto's much taller than I remember. His bony form is haloed by the grimy street lights, like some type of modern day urban god. He's tangible, he's real, and that's comforting despite the intimidation and fear his presence commands.  
Beside me, I can feel Joey's entire body tighten, and I see that even his brows are knotted with tension. If Seto notice's my brother's distrust for him, he doesn't react to it. He instead remains with his arms crossed in a stony defiance.

Mokuba is the only one that talks. He steps towards me and extends his tiny hand. "He's trying to say that you can stay with us for a while," His eyes are wide and shining, and I can imagine his face morphing into a stylized happy face.

My heart flutters again. I feel warmth spread through my cheeks. Is this happiness? I don't remember what that feels like. Is this gratitude? All I know is that I'm just so relieved that someone cared enough to save me. I feel my lips pulling into a smile. I reach for Mokuba's hand.

"The fuck!" Joey explodes, and every nerve in my body flinches at the anger steaming from his voice. Joey springs up from his place on the side walk with a fiery show of clench fists. He's reacting to this unexpected salvation like a threatened dog. His eyes are narrowed, his teeth are bared and his fists are clenched to the point the lines of tendons bulge from his hands. "Serenity, did you go asking this rich prick for pity?"

"W-what?" My voice quivers and cracks. His boyish expressions are gone. Anger exaggerates his features, and splays winkles across his eyebrows. He's morphing into a boy I don't know, one filled to the brim with bubbling rage and damaged pride. I don't want to admit it, but I can't escape the realization that with his lips snarled like that, with his pupil's constricted in fury, he's starting to look like dad. I feel myself start to shatter.

"She said nothing," Seto states curtly. "Now, are you coming or not?"

"So you can make us your charity case? How do you know that we have no place to go!"

"That's for me to know. Wheeler, you stay here and rot. I can't say that I care,"

I hear their words swirl in the air above my head, but nothing registers. It's like listening to someone else's conversation, about someone else's life.

I'm so distressed that my brother has turned his anger towards me. Any other time I would have accepted his outburst; He's cracking under the stress, but I'm not holding up well either. I'm so tired, so dirty, so cold, and hungry and lost. My emotional rollercoaster has finally crashed. My dull apathy has snowballed to the point that it has hit the wall and melted. I feel something inside me snap. My soul sinks to the bottom of my ribcage, but all the sorrow that I thought I was too numb to feel, claws its way upwards out of my throat. I end up choking on a sob, and it explodes into a raspy hiccup. The tears start.

At the sound of my crying, Joey ceases all his movements. He was in midstride, his hands reaching out threateningly to Kaiba's collar, but that all seems forgotten now. He turns towards me and I can see the anger melt from his face, and hostility fade into conscience-stricken compassion. "Oh god. I'm so sorry,"  
I burry my face in my hands. I don't want to look at him. I don't want him to look at me, either. Tears sting my eyes. Bloodshot veins stretch across my eyeballs like cobwebs. I have no idea why I can't calm myself. It's not like this is the first time I've drawn the short end of the stick in life. I just can't stop the

pain that feeds from my heart to my tear ducks.

"I'm so sorry," Joey kneels next to me and pulls my head to his chest, but I just can't stop the gasping sobs. I hate crying, and I hate that I cry so loudly, and I hate that it has to be so quite on this dock that everyone in the city can hear how pathetic I am. I rub my eyes, but the more I do so, the more they burn.

Joey strokes my hair as he cradles my head between his toned forearms and shirt. I grab onto him, , and ball my fists around patches of dirty fabric soaked with my tears and saliva. "Joey, why can't we go with him? _Please_," I pull away slightly from his chest, and I know I have to look pitiful. My face is scrunched up, and red and blotchy with moist heat from my tears. My nose is running even more now."I'm tired, I'm cold, I'm hungry, I wanna go home" My voice cracks, and lower lip shudders. I can't go home. I have nowhere and no one to go to. After all, my mother is dead.

_My mother is dead. _

The realization comes at me like a brick wall. The life I knew has shattered. I will never again hear my mother's voice. I'll never again have her hug me, praise me, or scold me. There will be no quite homemade diners or mundane conversations to take for granted. I can never return home to the comfort of her presence. The sorrow and anguish swirl around in my stomach in a nauseating tornado.

What now? I can see the roadmap of my future fading into blackness, to emptiness. I have nothing. I am nothing.

_My mother is dead. _

"Sis, I'm sorry. I'm just so sorry." Joey whispers in my hair. My frail body shakes.

"Please," I choke. Please. I'm not sure what I'm begging for. I'm begging for salvation from this cold and lonely dock. I'm begging for Joey to swallow his pride. I'm begging for this life of suffering to end.

I feel Joey nod his head slowly, and he relaxes his embrace. He pulls away slowly, and I realize that we are both on our knees, while Kaiba still stands unaffected by our emotional onslaught. Seto's eyes are as cold and blue and icy as the ocean that surrounds us.

"Hey, Kaiba," Joey's voice feigns strength. He never breaks eye contact with me, as if staring at Kaiba will make this situation more real. "One night. One night and we get the fuck out of there,"

"Fine by me," I hear Seto say. "Hurry it up, my driver's waiting," His footsteps fade, and Mokuba follows.

Joey still holds my arms gently, and we stare into each other's eyes. I feel like he's trying to show me his soul. As if he wants to tell me how much he's given up by admitting defeat. After all, Joey had nothing save his pride, and that was just broken.

My brother just admitted inadequacy to his worst enemy while on his knees.


	4. Intermission

Intermission

Author's note: This doesn't really have a purpose. It's just a little chapter in between real chapters. If you haven't already done so, please reread chapter 3. I had uploaded the first draft of the chapter instead of the final. Also while this chapter is sad, I'm half way done with the next one, and it is rather sweet.

* * *

What is the worth of a soul?

A soul is an infinity precious thing. It's the only thing that we truly process. People can own your body, but never your spirit. Yet I've heard tales about shady bargaining with the devil. Faust traded his soul for knowledge, Paganini for talent. Wealth, pleasure, power -Isn't a soul worth more than that? In an even trade, would my soul be so wrecked with doubt and pain that it too would be worth so little?

"The devil himself," That's what my brother called Seto in an agitation based stupor during one of the nearly 30 nights we spent on that blimp. If that's the case then I just sold my soul for a warm place to sleep and perhaps a hot meal.

As I sit in the back of one of the Kaiba Corp limo's I try to understand just why Joey thinks this is hell.

Seto has just invited us into his mansion. I'm in a limo that's worth more then what my mother was payed annually, and just one of its tires are equal to a month's rent. The only thing we seem to lack is streets of gold.

Mokuba had fallen asleep within ten minutes. He's curled up next to Kaiba and using his own jacket as a blanket. His cheeks are squished into squirrelish chubbiness against the leather interior.

Noone talks. I'm so drained, both emotionally and physically that I stare off into space with a blank look and an equally blank mind. I study myself in the reflection from the limo windows. My paleness has turned into anemic-looking pallor. The skin around my eyes is puffy and dark. I look dead.

Noone looks at each other either. Seto makes agitated faces at the financial app on his PDA, occasionally muttering something like "dammit," or "seriously?" to no one in particular. My brother endures it all with clenched teeth.

The only hell that I see is this atrociously awkward ride.


	5. Omniscient

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Finals suck. No real warnings here: maybe some mild angst, but hey she just lost her mother. This is also a rather long chapter, I'm sorry but she's in a new place so there is lots of description. If you would please comment, tell me how I'm doing on pacing and keeping in character. This is also a two part chapter, with the next part being from Joey's POV.

* * *

Maybe I'm dead.

That would explain the dull ache that radiates through my entire body. Why is my physical being punished for my emotional meltdown? The blood pounds in my head in time to my shaky breaths. The muscle fibers in my back criss-cross and tighten, sending lines of pain up my spine. My eyelids feel like little bricks when I open my eyes.

I think I've died.

That's the only explanation my disoriented brain can think up for how amazingly beautiful this place is. The sun sparkles through the crystalline windows, gently lapping at my cheek and lulling me awake with its warmth. I'm cradle deep in the safety of soft sheets and damask linens. The smell of vanilla and lavender soothes my mind deeper into this peaceful state of drowsiness. This reminds me of the lazy Sunday mornings when my mother let me sleep until early afternoon and I woke up to the smell of fresh biscuits and the smoky smell of bacon.

_Mom._

Mom! Every atom in my body jumps as the muddled memories of last night flood my brain. I remember it all and I can see it playing through my head like grungy old film slides: the cold and loneliness; my brother's broken pride; the awkward ride here. My heart beats faster with the awareness that this is reality.

I don't remember dragging myself in here, not do I remember falling into bed. Beyond the fact that I'm a guest in Seto's home, I'm not exactly sure where I am. I don't know where Joey is, or what time it is, but I'm surprisingly not panicked about being so ignorant of my current situation. Perhaps I'm too drained to care. Perhaps it's this bed. This bed is so luxurious, and the mattress so plush that I can't even keep up the energy to be worried. I study the scrolling roses carved on the mahogany chairrailing,

With a heavy sigh, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and realize only my tiptoes touch the floor. Seto must have a taste for tall beds because of his long legs, though I doubt he had much influence on anything in this room's design. It's so cozy, so feminine, and dare I say romantic? It's nothing like Seto's cold professionalism. Cream and rose-colored patterns dance along the height of the walls. The entire room is enveloped in a glow of sunlight, muted pink walls, and dark mahogany furniture. It seems almost sinful to taint the luxury of this place with my grimy meager possessions.

I tread lightly towards my duffle bag. I reach in and find that my facewash is empty and my toothpaste nearly depleted as well. It's a strange juxtaposition to have such inadequacy in a bedroom that is almost half the size of – and probably costs more than – my old house.

How I miss that little old house. How I miss my mom.

There's a pang in my heart, but I try my best to push it away. I cannot have a repeat of last night's mental breakdown. I refuse to be slowed down. I must focus on the "now", even if it's only to stifle my brain's hyperactivity.

Brushing my teeth seems adequate to focus on. I look about the room. If I remember correctly, the door to the left of the bed leads to the bathroom. With my toothpaste and tooth brush in hand, I push opened the dark paneled door to be enveloped in a prism of earthy tiles, shiny marble and golden fixtures. The bathroom appears to have been modeled after an old Italian villa. I start towards the vanity, girlishly amused by the fact the sink looks like a giant seashell that has been set on marble top.

Less than 12 hours ago I had no place to go. I had lost my mother and my home. And yet now, I find myself washing my face with soap shaped like little roses. Is this how Cinderella felt when she went from sleeping in the cinders to being a princess overnight? Perhaps like me, she had a sadness of leaving the only house that she knew but at the same time was she amazed by the splendor.

If I am Cinderella, then Seto is my prince.

I squeak and flush bright read at that thought. My mental monologue has betrayed me by making even my thoughts come out wrong. What is wrong with me? I splash my face with cool water one last time.

As I dry my face with a plush towel, I catch my reflection in the golden mirror. This is indeed a fairytale palace, but I'm not a beautiful princess. My skin isn't an exotic tan nor am I elegantly pale. Instead my skin seems translucent with anemic pallor. I pinch my own cheek until I see some color. If nothing else, I suppose I'm cute. I've yet to grow out of some of my babyish features, and my eyes seem unnaturally large.

With my business in the bathroom done, I change clothes and set out to find my brother. I'm not sure where we're going to go, but we'll find a place. If I know Joey, I know that he hasn't admitted to any of his friends what has really happened. Pity isn't something Joey wants to ask for, and I think charity embarrasses him. I'm sure if he would have made our circumstances known, they'd be more accommodating.

When I step into the hallway I realize that I have no idea where in this labyrinth I am and I don't know where Joey is either. I have no idea where to start. To my left, the hall extends only a short distance before ending in wide door. To my right, the corridor extends for around 100 feet before snaking off to the right.

I wonder aimlessly for some time along the right path. Corridors intersect and fork like little roads across the house's expanse. Halls snake off into different wings of the mansion so I quickly lose my way. I never really had a set path to begin with, and I'm in no real hurry, so I stop occasionally to look at what adornments the walls have to offer. A Blue-glazed china vase is perched atop a beautiful pedestal. A bit further and I see the rainbow shards from a Tiffany lamp on top a colonial end table. Strange abstract paintings burst forth with violent and chaotic designs.

"I don't care what he's doing, tell him to get his ass on the phone!" I hear that voice and my ears perk up. There's only one person whose voice carries that much authority. It has to be Seto . It's odd, but his voice is the first sign of a person I've seen since arriving here. I follow the sound of his voice as if he was a pied piper, stopping at a door that's slightly ajar..

I really don't know what I was thinking, or what I was hoping to accomplish by seeing him. I'm his charity case, and he doesn't need me in his way. Even when Seto is alone, he's a fearsome man. He commands respect of his domain of shuffled papers and manila folders. There's not much sound coming from inside, just the steady typing of computer keys. He has the phone cradled between his shoulder and ear, and occasionally grimaces towards the receiver. I stand outside the dark paneled door like a naughty child attempting to spy on the grown-up world.

I think that I'm invisible, but apparently Seto is omniscient. He doesn't even look up from the computer screen, nor does he put the phone down. He just lifts his right hand and motions for me to come to him. It feels like he is not only all seeing, but all powerful as well because it feels like my body moves towards him on it's own, like he's pulling me to him with tiny invisible strings.

"Tell the budget team to have the print out for the outlet stores in my hands come Monday morning, you got that?"

Compared to the rest of the house, Seto's little office is rather plain. There's a lonely plant, and no curtains on the single large window that's situated behind his equally large desk. The majority of the space is taken up by the innumerable books that are crammed into the shelves that line the walls. I'm not sure if they are for business or pleasure, but regardless there seems to be more than any person could read during a lifetime. I go to sit in the only seat available: a long and rather worn brown couch. On the other end of the sofa I see a rumpled blue blanket and a Superman comic. Mokuba perhaps?

"Did you need something?"

It takes me a moment to realize that Seto's talking to me. Why _did_ I come here? I don't know if I ever really had a reason, it was his voice that baited me, even if it was angry when I heard it. I'm not sure how to answer him, even though it's just a simple question, so once again I feel my self-esteem plummeting. "I, uh, I want to thank you. You know, for last night." That wasn't what I came to say, but I'm sincere about it nonetheless. I start to blush at my social clumsiness.

He waves his hand dismissively. "It's nothing. It was Mokuba's idea anyways," He opens a drawer hidden somewhere beyond my line of sight, and maneuvers around he desk with something gin his hand. "He found this. He said the wind blew it in. I think you will want it back,"

He drops something in my lap. It's looks like nothing but a messily folded piece of paper. I open it and for what feels like the millionth time my heart skips and beat.

_13 October 2008  
To Ms. Serenity Michelle Wheeler :_

_As you know, Lillian Paige Wheeler died on August 12 2008._

My head reels with the irony and unlikely hood of it all. When my brother was making calls on the dock payphone, I was obsessing over every tiny details of my mother's death notification: the textured stationary, the impersonal font. I remember releasing this note to windblown obscurity. If Mokuba and Seto were still in the general location, its more than possibly that one of them would have found it.

So that's how he knew.

I glance up. Seto's leaning nonchalantly against the desk. His long, lean arms are crossed and he's studying me coolly. I feel acutely disturbed by the way I'm being observed.

I open my mouth, but I honestly have no idea what to say. I'm feeling so many emotions that I almost expect my heart to explode into firework-like colors of blue confusion and blush-pink embarrassment. I'm thankful for Seto, I'm thankful for this place of shelter, but I also feel a tad uneasy on how Seto seems to know so much about me and my situation.

There's a loud resounding smack of the heavy wood door opening dramatically. The walls shake from the impact, and I squeak in surprise. Seto doesn't even bother looking up.

My brother stands in the door way like a movie hero making his dramatic entrance. "Pack your bags Serenity, we're getting the hell out of here,"


	6. Cannibal

Warnings: Mentions of drug use and family dysfunction in the first three paragraphs. Male masturbation starting in paragraph four and a little bit of carry over in paragraph five. I've now upped the rating to M. Moderate to High cursing. If it's not clear, this is from Joey's POV and it starts out in a shower.

I finally go my computer back, so there should be more updates.. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment. Even if it is just a one word comment like "yay," or "boo". I Also think I'm going to add more "grit" and vulgarity. What do you think? I may also go back and rewrite some of the the last chapter. I HATED that chapter.

* * *

When mom packed her bags, she left me behind as residue from a past she'd rather not remember. So honestly, I can't say that I'm sad that she's gone. That's not to say I'm happy about it, but no one really mourns the passing of a stranger. And that's all she was to me: a stranger.

I was just eight years old when mom left, and I was more than impressionable enough for Dad to teach me all the important lessons in life. By the time I was twelve I knew that Visine can take away red-rimmed pot eyes; The screw off tip of a ballpoint pen can hold up to $75 dollars in crack rocks; and cocaine can take the edge off the hunger from Dad spending all the grocery money on booze.

And of course, the easiest way to break, dominate, control and destroy is through sex.

That thought barely flashes through my head as just another uncontrollable thought as my brain whites out, and I keep pumping my fist up and down my cock in rhythm to my shaky breaths. Left-over suds from half-rinsed hair stream down my face, burning into the back of my eye sockets. I don't even bother with it, I don't care, I just let it sting while I fuck my fist in time to my erratic heartbeats.

I look like a fucking whore, breathing heavily with my mouth open, scalding hot water dripping down my lips, down my neck, and across my stomach. My legs shake and go weak. The tightening coil of euphoria in the bottom of my stomach snaps, and my eyes go bleary as I shoot four, five, six waves of cum against the shower wall.

Fuck you Kaiba, _fuck you._

My heart is still pounding against my sternum by the time my head clears and my eyes focus. I'm half-collapsed, bracing myself against the clammy shower tiles. The water burns my skin, dripping downward in trails of red streaks. My fingers slide against the residue of wet, sticky cum. I flick it down the drain before turning off the spout and toweling myself off.

I haven't slept. I spent the entire night twisting and turning against heavy blankets, just staring at the textured ceiling. This place is too damn quite, and quite makes me nervous. I'm used to the racket of Domino City's slums. Back in that shithole of an apartment, the paper thin walls did little to muffle the sounds of people crying, fighting, fucking. Broken down pintos and jalopies with burnt out mufflers played my urban lullaby. If nothing else, I always had the steady and maddening driiiiip-plop of a loose faucet that the bitchy, crack-whore landlady refused to fix.

How Dad managed to not get evicted from that apartment, I'll never know. But then again, I guess you can't evict demons from hell.

Damn, I'm bitter today.

My body is drained, and I want to kill out on any surface I can find, but my brain's sputtering in overdrive. What now? My thoughts swim around in my head, chasing themselves like a dog chases its tail, a futile attempt that leads me back to the beginning. What now? I want nothing more to get my sister, tell Kaiba to kiss my ass, and leave this place behind. But where do we go? Who does a normal family call when stuff like this happens? How does anyone start to pick up the pieces of two shattered lives?

_What now?_

I put on the same pair of jeans I wore yesterday, and the day before that. If Kaiba already knows I'm piss poor, then why should I bother? I wonder if Serenity is faring better than me with supplies. She's so fragile and sickly; I'm not sure if she needs medicine, what she's taking or what she's doing without. I feel a storm of self hatred swell at the bottom of my stomach. I will protect my sister. I will provide for what's left of this family. I won't be a dead beat like our father.

Serenity. Where is she? I'm standing in the threshold of this bed room and this long ass hallway that doesn't seem to lead anywhere, really. Three living rooms, eight bedrooms, east wing, central court – who needs that kind of space? Maybe it's a call back from the days that knowing the places to run and hide kept me alive and my ass out of jail, but this place has too many dark corners and too many places to hide secrets – and I don't like secrets.

.Which could be the reason I feel so much like a prick. I'm hiding a secret form my sister. I did call my buddies, but I never told them the full truth. Teá, Yugi – everyone really – thinks I'm moving back in with Mom and Serenity, and that the three of us are all going to be a perfect little family again. I didn't tell anyone that I was calling from a dock payphone, or that I was officially a vagrant. Why would I want my friends to feel obligated to take me in? I don't want to be the charity case that they are forced to care for.

I think Tristan knows, though. I can only hide so much from the man who found me dressed as a beaver in a tutu passed out in a ditch line. He stopped all the shady stuff years before me, but he never asked questions when I showed up at his door drunk as fuck and crying. That's probably why he's my best friend.

There's something intensely satisfying about remember what you did the night before. Thank you, year and a half of sobriety.

I see Mokuba sitting on a cushioned bench at the end of yet another hallway – or am I in the same hallway? I can't tell anymore. I realize that I've wondered around for a good five minutes and still have no idea where the hell I am. This area of the house is mostly made of glass, and the windows amplifies the sun's heat to the point that I feel strands of sweat beading on the back of my neck, but Mokuba is in long sleeves and pants. "Hey, half-pint," I say, walking up to him. "Where's Kaiba?"

"Hmmm?" Mokuba looks up at me, his eyes large and innocent. Has this kid _ever_ grown? He's way smaller than I remember Serenity ever being at that age. He's sucking on a cherry ring-pop and reading a comic book. I hope to God I never was as naïve as this kid looks."He's in his office. It's in the east wing next to the Jade Room,"

"And that means?" Seeing that candy had made me realize I'm hungry. Mokuba puts the lollipop up to his mouth and I realize I'm staring. When was the last time I ate? I had nothing this morning, nothing last night. I ate yesterday, didn't I?

"Tis tat way, and to the leff," Mokuba holds the ring-pop with his teeth as he gestures further down the corridor. It adds a lisp to all his words. I had forgotten I'd even asked anything "Serenity's in ter too, I tink,"

Well, dammit. Kaiba didn't waste a minute to start taunting me, did he? I don't trust that son-of-a-bitch with my sister. He loves to use people—that's a known fact. He gets a sick high from it. He's a hunter that preys on the weak and my sister is the perfect target.

Serenity is _weak. _She's too trusting, and trust is just another vulnerability Kaiba can exploit. She doesn't have the mental strength to deal with the shit I've seen. I'm a twisted little bastard, but sometimes I thank God she was going blind while Mom and Dad were still together, that way she never had to see Dad beat Mom or our apartment slowly decay into filth. Her blindness and frailness sheltered her then, but could get us in trouble now. I'm not sure what I think Kaiba's going to do to her, but I know she'd innocently believe his smooth talk. She's so tiny too, she wouldn't stand a chance if he decided to…..

_The easiest way to break, dominate, control and destroy is through sex._

That thought from earlier tears through my brain, and it finally cements in my mind why I'm afraid for my sister. Kaiba gets off to the idea of cannibalizing the weak, and Serenity must be looking like a hot little piece to him right now. I feel my body going into defense mode. My lips snarl up in disgust as I start sprinting to where Mokuba pointed.

That bastard wouldn't dare touch her; he wouldn't contaminate her with his grime. Horrid pictures flash through my head. I see him pressing in to her. Her tiny yelps as he pushes her to the wall, all with that disgusting, monstrous smile. .

What is he going to do to her? He's what, twenty-two? He could manipulate her with age difference. He could demand impossible payments for keeping us for the night. What is he going to do to her?

Quit. Fucking. Imagining. It

I jerk open the door, the force shaking the hinges and the impact jarring the wall. I swear to God if he's touching her, it'll take the entire US army to pry my hands off his cold dead neck. "Kaiba get your dirty paws off—"

They're not doing anything. There not even sitting together. Serenity is sitting on a couch and Kaiba is leaning against a desk. I was expecting him to be in mid-assault, but nothing's going on. He's barely looking at her. Oddly, his ignoring her makes me angry as well. I'm looking for any excuse to settle this imaginary score. "Pack your bags Serenity, we're getting the hell out of here," I hope my words sound as badass as I want them to seem. Seto makes my blood boil in ways that no one can understand. Blood dances through my veins in waves that only hatred can form.

"Who did you call?" Serenity's voice is so sweet. I know she's not trying to accuse me of anything, but I still kick myself internally. I'm sick of lying to her, but this isn't the time to be catering to her childish wishes of togetherness and family. Family doesn't always stick together. Sometimes family can be your worst enemy. But with her face in a pout and her head cocked to the side she looks like a little confused puppy: A puppy I just kicked."We're going to go stay with-" I pause. With who? How can I possible escape this hole I'm digging? "Friends," I finish lamely.

"Friends," Serenity repeats, and I'm fairly sure that she knows I'm lying now. She doesn't need to know the obscene things that I'm attempting to save her from. Kaiba would have no problem turning the both of us into his slaves just for kicks.

"Mm-hmm," Kaiba agrees sarcastically. He hasn't even said a single word, but the rudeness is still there. He watches me like God: uninterested and slightly amused by my sufferings. "Last I heard, you didn't have a place to go. None that Serenity would agree to anyways. Can't say I blame her not wanting to stay in the quintessence of deficiency,"

Quintessence? I'm not entirely sure what that means, but I know an insult when I hear one. My friends and I are not deficient in anything. Just because a pair of Kaiba's imported leather shoes are probably worth more than every single thing I've ever own, _does not_ make him better than me. If there's one thing I hate above all, it's being humiliated and embarrassed. Sometimes all I ever had was pride, and to feel it break is to feel _me_ break. My cheeks go red in a mix of humiliation and rage. I wonder if Kaiba realizes that my sister's presence is the only thing restraining me from jumping across this room and brutally murdering him with my bare hands. Strangulation would be nice, or maybe smashing his skull in with a big ass paper weight.

"I'll make some calls and –" I start a shaky lie. In reality, I know nothing. I have no plans, and no way to save either me or my sister. In the world of non-criminal activities, I'm completely useless and stupid. I hate Kaiba for rubbing it in my face. I hate my dad for raising me that way. I hate mom for allowing this to happen, but most of all I just hate myself.

"And do what?" Kaiba interrupts. His predator eyes must see that my lie doesn't have a fighting chance, and so he lets it slip. After all, carnivores only like to hunt things that put up a fight. "Its past noon on a Friday, nothing is getting done today. Or over the weekend,"

Shit. Didn't think of that.

"Face it, Wheeler, you've got nothing. You've lost at life."

I've officially reached the end of my thought process. My brain doesn't scramble for another idea, or another lie. It just blanks out, flat lining into nothingness like the rest of my life. I can't even be mad, because he's _right. _I have nothing. I am nothing. Now what?

"Now what?" Serenity echoes my thoughts, and she sounds so helpless and desperate. Her sadness stabs at my heart. That seems to be the ultimate question.

_Now what? _I wish I could have even a penny for all the times I've asked myself that. Now what? I feel suddenly lightheaded. It seems like everything in my life, all that shit I've been through, has been utterly pointless. My life, my eighteen years, it leads up to this point and ends. I can't do anything about it. I can't save myself, I can't save Serenity. I can do nothing, because I am nothing. I feel sick, I feel hollow. I'm hungry, I'm tired, I'm lost. Am I shaking? I feel l like my cheeks have sunk in within a matter of seconds, and my eyes feel bruised. It's over. I have no hope of a semi-normal life. I have no hope of pulling myself up by my bootstraps. _I have no hope._ I realize that I'm hunched over, my hand over my mouth like I'm about to vomit. There's nothing in my stomach, but the stomach acid is chewing at the back of my throat.

"Mr.-Seto-Kaiba-please," Serenity has started speaking suddenly in a rushed, desperate manner with each of her words becoming shakier than the last. I barely look at her. I can't face her. "I'll do anything. You know everything. You know what to do. I don't. Please just tell me what to do,"

Serenity's finally snapped I think. I thought her mental breakdown on the dock was something to see, but at this point it seems that she's just blabbering in despair. "I don't have anything much at all, but I'd give it to you if you could just tell me what I need to do 'cause I have no place to go and all I've ever wanted was to have my brother back and you know what it's like to love your brother and God knows I'd do absolutely _anything,_"

"Serenity," I try to make my voice come out as a warning, but I can't keep it from cracking. Kaiba doesn't need to see anymore than he already has. He's still leaning against that damn desk like he's the fucking god of desks and we're his little toys that he's grown tired of. I'm tired of everything. My head throbs with each of my panicked heartbeats. My sister is crying, _again_. I've failed her _again ._I'm so tired of this scene being stuck on repeat.

Serenity does something that makes me gag. My empty heart sinks to the bottom of my empty stomach, and the bile hangs thick from my throat. She's off the couch and is fucking_ bowing at Kaiba's feet. _She's fallen to her knees and is fucking _bowing_. I'm nauseated at what this position is mimicking; she could be sucking him off, she could be worshiping him, and either way it churns my stomach.

God, please tell me I've snapped. I hope that it's the lack of sleep, food, and sanity and this is all just a bad nightmare, but I can see the euphoric, smug smile as Kaiba looks down on my sister's kneeling form. He's getting turned on by this, the sick fucker. I want to vomit. I want to feel Kaiba's hot blood on my hands. I want to claw my own eyes out so I don't have to see Kaiba's erection straining against his pants in response to my sister's submission. I don't know who I want to kill more, myself or him, or this whole damn world.

"You'll be staying here for a while," Kaiba speaks, the power trip filling his face with a demonic glow.

My body can't take it anymore and I throw up in my mouth, the taste of old pennies, and the taste of stomach acid. My legs turn to jelly, and I fall hard on my knees, vomit spilling from my mouth, to my hand, to the carpet, that rancid stench making me even queasier – a never ending cycle just like my hopelessness. Will we be in this house for an entire weekend?

Fuck you Kaiba, _Fuck you._


	7. Daze

orry for the delay! It's been CRAZY with midterms and all. This may be a bit of a long chapter but I hope you enjoy it. Can anyone see the hints of future abuse in these chapters? I'm trying to set up Serenity's mental patterns in these chapters. Tell me if you can see a pattern/personality emerge. (naive, confused, etc) Yes, I know this is slow moving. Tell me if that bothers you. There will eventually be sex and abuse, btw.

Warnings:

General grossness involving vomit; Insecure!Serenity; Angst-fest, and a Very very very subtle hint of abuse/molestation (its up to you to interpret it)

References: "Seto was really sick" the coma in season zero manga.

* * *

"Just like a mutt to throw up on the damn carpet"

That's what Seto had said, even as my brother was doubled over and on his knees in the most vulnerable position.

The words hit like a slap. I stood there for a moment, my stupidity taking over, as I tried to process this insanity. His words struck like hammer to my fragile self-esteem and already cracking psyche. I thought anyone with any fragment of a heart would have to feel some form of pity for my brother. Who could look at that washed-out skin, as white as the wax from a burnt-out candle, and not feel something? Wasn't Seto just showing some form of humanity to me a moment ago? Why the change? What is happening?

I fell to my knees, and threw my arms around my brother's neck. There was a sickening suction sound and I could feel my brother's thick, disgusting, vomit swirl around my bare knees. I didn't care. I had to let him know that I was there for him. If he was a dog, then I was a dog too. And packs stick together.

Mokuba helped me take Joey into the guest room. He was burning up with fever, and passing out from exhaustion.

"_Just like a mutt to throw up on the carpet" _those words have been echoing in my skull. I've sat by Joey's bedside for hours; patting his face with a damp cloth and swallow back the tears.

My poor, poor brother.

Even asleep he's not entirely at peace. His eyelids flutter nervously and his pouty lips pull into a distressed line. I stroke back a sweat drenched lock blonde hair from his forehead and his eyebrows furrow at the touch. I feel a pang that shakes my heart. Has he never felt a caring touch? Is that why his muscles lock as he feels my hands?

I cup his cheek, stroking his skin with my thumb until the lines of tension in his forehead fade away. His face is soft, smooth – still a child's skin. What does that mean for me? He's older than me, yet I can't remember a time I was innocent. But as I look how he tosses and turns in his sleep I just think that he has grown up way too fast. He's been through so much. I know there's been so much more than he's been telling me, or more than the things I've seen. It breaks my heart.

My mother did this. My mother did this to us. Not just by her dying – God only knows how she died. She couldn't handle the fact that Joey looks so much my father. She couldn't handle it and just left him. I didn't understand then and I'll never get it. My mother is – was? – a good person. I know that with all my heart. Bad people don't get tear-eyed at Lifetime movies. Bad people don't volunteer at hospitals, or knit hats for the homeless shelter. Bad people don't. But mom did. Mom would never say an unkind word. My mother wouldn't hurt anyone intentionally. So why? Why did she leave Joey on this path?

And how is that I love both my mom and Joey?

"You 'kay? You need a break?" It's Mokuba. Has he been behind me this whole time? I don't turn to face him. I can't. Tears pool in my eyes. I don't speak because I know my words will come out as rough, shaky and sad. I just shake my head, but really, which question am I answering?

"He's gonna be fine, ya know. He's just tired. You don't hafta be so sad." I hear Mokuba's little feet as he pads up to Joey's bedside. He's close enough to me now that I can see his wild, untamed hair from the corner of my eyes. "You really should go take a shower or something," He points to my knees, still crusted over with dried vomit. It's not a pretty picture. I'm not a pretty picture.

"No. I don't want Joey to wake up alone," _Because he's always been alone,_ I want to add. How has he been able to live like this? I've been alone and homeless and scared for barely a _day _and I'm an unstable emotional wreck. . If I listen to my rational mind, , I know Mokuba is right and Joey is fine. My brother just needs a break and with his stubbornness, this is the only way his body was going to get rest. But seeing him passed out, along with the sudden loss of my mom is eating away at my sanity. I also figure we'll be back on the streets again after was happened in Seto's office.

_Just like a mutt. _

"Seto.." why am I using his first name? Am I so delusional that I think we could actually be on a first name basis? "Kaiba.. Your brother. He's really mad isn't he?"

"Huh?" Mokuba looks genuinely confused that I think being compared to an animal equates anger. "No, he's not mad. Well, not mad at _you - _I guess you wouldn't know how Seto works, would you? My big brother isn't the best with stress, or messes. Don't take it personally."

"Oh," Just like that? I'm supposed to not think Kaiba's anger is directed towards me? I conjure up that last image of Seto's face before I turned to leave. It was cold, hard, unforgiving, and yet Mokuba is telling me that Seto didn't mean it? Was I the only person who saw the subtle back-pedal, that look of repulsion in his eyes as he looked down on me and my brother? _Kaiba really thought we were no better than dogs._

"You really should go get cleaned up. My big brother will flip his lid if you come to dinner that way,"

"Dinner?" I wasn't expecting this.

"Yeah. Big brother isn't a bad person, ya know? He's not gonna let you starve," Mokuba made a shooing motion with his hands. "Go, take a shower. I'll watch Joey for you. I watched Seto before when he was really sick," His eyes go big and shiny as he remembers. I wonder if it was as painful for him as this is for me? It can never be easy to see your only stability lay sick and defenseless.

I smile at him, and even though I mean the words, the smile doesn't reach my eyes. "Thank you," I stand and the dried throw-up crackles and makes standing difficult. I move to touch Joey's cheek one more time.

Mokuba has already taken my place on the low stool and he gives me a giggly thumbs-up as I turn to leave for my room. I wonder why Kaiba saw fit to put my brother and I in rooms that are so far apart. It makes me uneasy to not be by my brother. I would have preferred to be in a room next to Joey, or even in the same room with him, but I suppose beggars can't be choosers, and I have been reduced to a beggar.

Mokuba says Seto is a good person, and while I trust Mokuba, I find that impossible for anyone to rationalize. Just an hour or two before, I thought Kaiba was my savior. But now, when I think of Seto, all I can see is his face covered with that look of disgust, his body backing away from us like we are so disgusting that he can't bear to be near us. When I think of someone raising their voice and calling me an animal, I automatically have flashbacks of my father. My father was not a good person, so Seto must not be a good person either.

But being angry and irritated doesn't make you a bad person. People get irritated – it happens. I've heard of even the best of people getting irritated when a puppy makes a mess, and Joey and I aren't exactly as cute as puppies. I try to see us through Seto's eyes: we're a potential tax break maybe, but defiantly nothing personal to weigh down on his consciousness. We're just two rag-tag teenagers, from a lower income bracket with no family and nowhere to go. That's all we are. Homeless. Poor. Ugly.. I know I'm more trouble than I'm worth.

I think of that as I turn the knob on the door into my temporary bedroom. The room is as beautiful as I remember, with luxury shining in every well placed pillow and highly polished fixtures. Seto did not have to offer this to me. So why did he?

I make my way into the attached bathroom. The coolness of the tile soaks through my soles as I stand still and timidly look about. Do I just start rummaging through the numerous cabinets for a towel? It feels odd using the amenities in someone's home so freely and I'm uncomfortable with it. But I need a towel, and I hesitantly open the cabinets until I find the towels in a huge mahogany linen closet. I glance around nervously even though I know no one is there and bit my lip as I unbutton my shorts and let them fall to the floor.

I'm not comfortable with my own body, and there is a full length mirror that spans almost the entire wall across from me, ready to reflect and magnify my flaws. I pull my shirt off next, then my bra, and lastly my panties.

The mirror gawks at my awkwardness.

I trace the profile of my body in the mirror. The lines I map with my fingers never curve. My body is a twig; straight, thin, and weak. I'm not a pretty girl.

My eyes have left me confused and conflicted about my body – just like they have every other aspect of my life. Normal girls watch their bodies' mature slowly and have time to adjust to seeing the childish chubbiness melt away and soft, feminine curves blossom in its place. I never had that. Until recently, the last time I had ever seen myself was when I was a child. Of course I "felt" my development with I bathed, or changed clothes, but seeing myself with curves – no matter how slight – came as a shock. The unwanted attention was even more jarring and it made me literally sick to my stomach at times.

Part of me blames my father for the hatred of my body. But that's a story that I quickly kick from my mind. I don't want the flashbacks today.

To further my confusion, the first woman I saw with my new eyes was the object of many men's fantasies – including that of my brother's. Her name was Mai Valentine and even now I can feel my cheeks blush red with inferiority. She looked like a model, built tall and slim with the kind of curves that countless men lose their souls to. Mai's the kind of woman a girl like me would die to be. I don't understand how I feel so ashamed of my barely-B-cup-breasts but still feel inferior because I don't have voluptuous curves.

What's wrong with me? Sometimes I wish I had someone to make up my mind for me.

I step into the spacious shower. I wonder if it's ever been used. I've never heard any mention of a woman in the household, and yet this room has been designed with a woman in mind. The pink, the sea-shell shaped sink, the various rose and vanilla scented toiletries. There's even a little step in the shower that I can balance on to shave my legs. Maybe Seto's mom used these two rooms.

Does that mean he's lost a mom too? Does it hurt for him to think of her?

I let the water wash away the stress of the day. The heat from the shower relaxes my muscles, and I realize I'm still tired. I'm hungry too. That dinner that Mokuba mentioned is sounding better as the minuets tick by. I turn the faucet off, and hold the soft towel close to my skin. That hate-filled glare from Kaiba plays in my mind.

I hate that look. I am not a dog. Joey is not a dog.

What do I have to do to prove to him that I am a person? I think of him. I've never seen him dressed in anything but a constant formality. If I don't want to be treated as an animal I better follow suit.

Since when did substandard become standard? It's pure torment to realize that it coincides with Joey coming back into my life.

I start rummaging through my duffle bag. This shirt: too dingy. These shorts: too holey. That top has a stain and this skirt has a hole in the pocket. I think I'm going to go insane. I'm walking on eggshells here, trying to be an unoffending as possible. None of my well-worn clothes can even compare to his spark pressed attire. I'm the dime-store pop-poster next to the legendary da Vinci painting.

But really, how can anyone compare to a self-made CEO? And such a remarkable one at that? When I think of a CEO, I imagine an older, middle-aged man with a receding hairline and graying beard. That was not Seto. Seto was young, twenty-two, and everything about him was different, somehow better. His hair was a little too long, his voice a little too loud, and his walk a little too cocky for him to be the stereotype.

Seto was a stunningly attractive man, nothing like the boys my brother hung around. Duke was a smooth talker. He was pretty, almost girly with his soft feminine face and pampered black hair that shone like strands of starlight. Tristan was a bit more down to earth. He was a cute boy next door type, whose charm came primarily from his chivalry. He was the type to open doors, pull out chairs, and go easy on the swears around the ladies. Seto was different. It was hard to explain. He wasn't stereotypically handsome. His face was angular, all unpolished corners like an uncut stone. He didn't have charm per se. He was beyond it. He could talk his way into anything and bend anyone to his will. And it was all disturbingly alluring

But does physically appealing mean good?

As I dress I find my brain in turmoil. What is a good person? I've said it so many times, but it's all so vague. Good, charitable, kind, - all of this I attributed to my mother. My mom wasn't perfect, but she was gentle, friendly, and inviting. She was far from unpleasant, but she couldn't bear to be under the same roof as Joey. If Kaiba hasn't thrown us back out on the streets, does that mean he is as good a person – if not better than – my mother?

There's a knock at the bedroom door, and I quickly pull a t-shirt over my head. "Come in!"

It's Mokuba and he has not problem bargaining in before I even get the words out of my mouth. I'm fairly sure he saw part of my bright pink training bra. "Joey asked for you," He says simply. "And he's hungry"

Dinner. This could be a great opportunity to bring us all together, or to tear us apart. "Yeah, I'm coming"


	8. Dinner

Author's note: I originally was going to have this chapter be full of etiquette examples, with Serenity's actions being full of mistakes to contrast with Seto's perfect dinning etiquette. But then I realized: I am probably the only person who has been through multiple dinning etiquette classes, so there would be no point. For those of you who catch it, Serenity being seated to the right of Seto is actually a position of honor.

Warnings: Joey says "Hell" Random!Mokuba, a long chapter.

Good news! I think I have a beta reader that will be joining me shortly. :)

* * *

The dining room is vast and dark, a perfect mirror for the distance between the four of us. Joey is already sitting down on one of the many chairs along the long table, resting his head on his folded arms. He still looks sickly and pale, and he barely raises his head to greet me with a weak smile.

It's one of the odd moments that Joey stays quite and I don't speak either. What could either of us say that hasn't already been put forward? At least Mokuba keeps chattering on about _something _involving seahorses and that "time with the nun, the narwhal, and the duct tape, ya know?"

Whatever it was, he clams up the moment Seto walks into the room.

Seto enters with no announcement, but we all can feel his presence. He has an effect on the entire atmosphere. With every step he takes into the room, the mood shifts and becomes more austere, stern, and nervous even. He carries himself like a king, or god – so imposing that even the auras bend to his will. He is accustomed to being respected and revered, and it shows in each imperious, stride. Does he ever relax? Is it possible to not be nervous and flighty in his presence?

His eyes sweep his domain. He scowls at Joey briefly.

You're not supposed to sit down before the host. Strike one against us.

Seto makes brief eye contact with me, before flickering his gaze up and down my body. My heart stops. I turn away from him, the blood settling across my face in a nervous blush. I'm bare to his scrutiny and can do nothing to hide my flaws. Unsurprisingly, he's in khakis and a wine-red button up and I'm in what he probably considers rags. I'm not up to the standards to even be in his presence, and I feel like my body fumbles for breath as I fidget with the hem of my shirt. I'm so stupid. I really should have dressed better. I'm sure I could have put something together if I had tried harder. I was just so tired and I wasn't thinking earlier. Just one glace has taken my breath. How can I endure these next few days with him?

He takes his seat at the head of the table. "Come. Sit." The dog comment from earlier is still a fresh wound and the short, strongly punctuated commands only increase the bitterness. I'm even more disgusted when I do what he says without how could I say no? This man is my salvation from the streets, I remind myself. I will jump through any hoop to make sure he shows mercy to us.

With shaking legs I try to obey. I aim for the closet seat possible, because I'm afraid if I have to walk any further, he'll notice my fear. My hands tremble as I pull out a chair.

"No," He grunts disapprovingly, scolding me like I'm a child. "Ladies to the right ,"

"Oh," Was I supposed to know that? I clumsily move to the opposite side of Seto. I feel like the entire world is scrutinizing my mistakes. Mokuba takes the seat that I just vacated, and Joey is seated to the left of him. My brother is so far away that I'm practically alone. The pink in my cheeks turns apple-red and I simply stare downward so I won't have to meet Seto's eyes.

The place-settings are beautiful, regal even. The plates are fine bone china and decorated with an intricate scroll design in burgundy and gold. The flatware is polished like diamonds. Everything is laid out on a crisp, white table cloth. Seto clearly refuses to be surrounded by anything less than beautiful or majestic. Then why, why am I here?

A server places a bowl of soup in front of me. I'm looking at a bowl on a dinner plate in the center, with two forks on the left, and two knives and a spoon to my right. There's a smaller plate towards the top left with a third knife, and towards the top right there are two glasses that look like wineglasses. There's also a tiny fork laid across the top of the pacesetting. I'm at a loss. What do I do with it all? I barely use this much flatware in a day.

I look at my brother. He's eyeing the place setting with a disgusted look. He picks up the miniature fork and looks at Kaiba through the tines. "What we eating here, Kaiba? Doll's food?"

Seto's glare is his only response.

"It's a dessert fork," Mokuba directs toward Joey

I love my brother, I do. I always have. But how can someone be so embarrassing? Does he not know how Kaiba feels about us? Does he not care? Why is he only reinforcing our image as poor and ignorant? The idea of food has perked Joey up, and his rambunctiousness is back in full force. I wish I were closer to him so I could have given him a warning kick under the table. Embarrassment courses through me.

Noone speaks. The clank of ceramics is the only sound.

"You really went all out, didn't you, Seto? You didn't have to," I attempt to make conversation. At my house, we always spoke lively to one another, but the silence here is heavy and awkward.

Seto waves his hand in dismissal . "It's nothing much, a semi-formal dinner. We rarely entertain."

If _this_ is a semi-formal, then formal is beyond my imagination.

"What he means is no one ever come visits," Mokuba says snidely, and I hear a tone of dejection in his voice. He clanks his spoon noisily against the rim of the bowl.

"Mokuba," Seto warns.

Mokuba grumbles at the scolding.

"All out? Eh, I hardly call soup "all out"," Joey splashes around the broth with his spoon.

"It's the first course," Mokuba answers.

"First? So like, there's more?"

Strike two, Joey.

I'm so stupid. How could I think this would work out? Seto, Joey and I are from three different worlds. You can't shove three different classes into one house an expect them to harmonize. I can see all the awkwardness of tonight stretched ahead of me like dark clouds on the horizon.

I occupy myself with the soup. It's not very appealing. It's milky white, like a cream based broth, but with chunks of _something _floating unappetizingly in it. Flakes of parsley and oregano float like refuge along the rim of the bowl. I don't want to say it, but it looks a little like vomit. There's only one spoon, so I pick it up. The soup tastes vaguely of chicken and potatoes. It's an odd taste combination.

I watch Seto take a bite. It's honestly the first time I've ever seen him consume something other than coffee or water, and its strangely captivating. It makes him more human somehow. Even the great Seto Kaiba has to eat, after all. But even though the action is mundane, he still carries himself with such a dignified air. The way he eats soup, he doesn't even put the bowl of spoon in his mouth, but holds it to his lips. It's amazingly refined, and would expect nothing less from him.

I notice Mokuba lifting up chunks of little dough bits in his spoon and letting them plop back off into the broth. "I don't like gnocchi" He whines.

"What's a gnocchi?" Joey asks.

Mokuba picks up another piece of dough with his spoon and shows it to Joey. "This."Bits of broth drip messily to the white table cloth. Seto clenches his jaw tightly as the drippy mess. He's plainly irritated. I wonder if he's regretting his offer of letting us stay here for the weekend. Not only are we classes below him, but Joey is corrupting Mokuba as well.

I'm glad when a man comes to my left and takes my bowl. It would have been impossible to pretend to like that soup any longer. The similarities between Joey's vomit from earlier and that soup were too uncanny for me to stomach. The server places a salad in front of me. I'm just glad it's something I can fully identify.

There are three forks to choose from. Two to my left and one laid out above the plate. I'm not sure what to choose. We used the spoon first and it was placed farthest away from the plate, so logic has it that we would use the next farthest utensil.

Mokuba is picking at his plate. He wrinkles his nose up at the array of vegetables.

"Eat your vegetables, Mokuba," Seto's words are demanding, but they're oddly brotherly too.

Mokuba just whines in response.

"You know what the doctor says. You have to eat them," Seto counters.

Doctor? My ears perk up. I didn't' know that there was anything wrong with Mokuba. Sure he's small, but he looks healthy. His cheeks are rosy and full. His eyes are bright. His hair appears long and healthy, if not a little wild, and his nose curls into a cute little button. Overall he appears to be a healthy, rambunctious pre-teen. Maybe he's underweight? It's hard to tell with all his long sleeves and baggy pants.

"What's it matter? He says I'm always going to be short anyhow,"

"Hey, now, they ain't a thing wrong with being the runt," Joey pipes up. "The smallest are the hardest to catch. This one kid I used to hang with, he was the smallest but he was our fastest runner. Nothing could ever catch him, not even the cop's mutts."

Seto addresses Joey for the first time since dinner started. "_Don't"_ He puts a strong stress on the first word "encourage my brother to follow your insanity. He won't be running from the cops,"

I hate that the first words between Joey and Seto has to be so hate filled, but I think Joey caught his own mistake, because he doesn't bother to argue with Kaiba. He turns to Mokuba "What I'm saying is, eat your veggies. Grow strong! Be fast!,"

Ironically, Joey's own salad hasn't been touched.

I'm captivated by the exchange. Everyone knows Seto and Mokuba are attached to each other, but this conversation about vegetables and doctors—It's so normal. It's like a conversation that any family would have. When I was home and not being wheeled off to some various hospital or doctor, mom would come home late from her shift at work and we'd have dinner sometimes as late as 11 at night. We'd sit around and exchange stories about school, work, doctors, friends, television, anything really. That's what's happening here, between Seto and Mokuba to a lesser degree. Familial bonding over food holds true in a multi-million dollar estate just like it did in mom's humble little blue tiled kitchen, just like I imagine it would even in the tiniest, most rundown apartment building.

The server comes by again, removing the salads and placing the main course, but I'm feeling a little full already.

It's steak and potatoes.

It's so normal that it actually flusters me for a moment. I must be starting to lose it. Am I the only one who thinks this is the strikingly ordinary? In a house where everything is so museum-like that I'm afraid that just my breath with contaminate the walls, There's something comfortingly boring about the cut of marbled steak, and the baked potato snuggled in aluminum foil. It's so _familiar, _so normal considering the abnormal circumstances in such an extraordinary place

I glance around. Am I the only one that things this is odd? Joey's already scooping out the insides of his potato; the aluminum lay discarded and crumpled at the side of his plate. Mokuba looks a little confused, but smiles like it's a treat to be treated with commonality.

"Now this is what I'm talking 'bout," Joey says around bites of steak.

"I figured that your type liked meat. Is it rare enough for you?" Seto slices through his potato. He eats so neatly, whereas my brother shoves forkfuls into his mouth like it's a free-for-all.

I hear a potential for an insult, but Joey doesn't catch it. Maybe he's so overjoyed about having a full plate of quality food in front of him that he lets it slide. Maybe it wasn't an insult at all. Maybe he meant it sincerely.

I take a bite as well. I never knew steak could taste smooth. It's sweet with a slightly tangy after taste."Food's good," I say. It's a lame attempt to break the silence with something other than my brother's loud chewing. There's more awkward clanks of silverware against porcelain.

"Chef Lerouche trained with Massimo Bottura. As you can taste, he's great with Kobe Fillet."

When Seto speaks of casually of foreign cuisines and world class chefs, I realize something. This isn't something Seto would normally eat. Given a choice, he would be dinning on some hard to pronounce entrée with French or Italian origins. This meal was for me and Joey. Seto knew Joey would want steak. Seto knew it would be something I'd be comfortable with.

So Seto did think about us. My brother's wrong. Seto can be nice. Joey may hate me for this, but I find myself beginning to trust Seto. He may not be teddy-bear cuddly and warm, but he does care.

I feel like a little kid who's discovered a fascinating secret. I'm not sure why, but I've discovered there is more to Kaiba's than that jerk whose known for being a ruthless duelist and unforgiving boss. There is a Seto Kaiba at home: the one that talks about doctor appointments and plays parent to his brother and is hidden from the public eye

The dinner passes with little conversation. With the exception of Mokuba's occasional chatter, we in eat in uncomfortable silence. And when the desert comes, an orange-chocolate mousse cheesecake – I have to push it away mostly untouched.

Seto stands up abruptly. Mokuba stands up as well. I'm confused. What invisible cue did I miss? Seto starts to leave with Mokuba close behind him. Joey looks up from his plate, his mouth stuffed full of food. "Wha-?"

Seto barely turns around."I take coffee in the sitting room. You may join me."

"That means you gotta come," Mokuba attempts to whisper.

"But I'm still eating!" Joey whines.

Regardless, We all make our way to the living room. This is the only room that looks common. There are very little frills here. It's supposes to be a modern look I suppose. The couches are low and plush, with pillows in shades of brown, tans, and whites. One wall is red brick. The other has huge windows facing the romantic setting sun.

"You're slow," Seto states flatly. "Are you coming?" He's already sitting down in an arm chair and that same gray-headed servant places a tray of cookies and a coffee pot with cups on the padded coffee table.

"Sorry," I mumble. My brother sits on the corner of the couch, the seat that puts the most distance between Seto and himself. I sit down as close as possible to Joey.

Mokuba plops down on the floor at our feet, and reaches for the cookies and mugs on the coffee table. He grabs a thermos-mug that looks almost bigger than him. He takes a huge drink and comes back up with a milk foam mustache. He giggles towards me and Joey.

"Whoa! That's a big mug of coffee for such a little guy," Joey comments.

Mokuba grimaces. "I wish. Big brother won't let me have coffee. It's hot chocolate,"

"It's bad for your health," Seto doesn't notice as Mokuba sneaks another cookie.

"Yeah, but you drink it 'round the clock," Mokuba sits cross-legged and uses his socked feet to balance his tall stainless steel mug. "You drink too much coffee. You know that means you're addicted. Caffeine's a drug ya know,"

"Caffeine isn't a drug, it's a vitamin, for me at least," Seto muses. He's staring out into space. At first I thought he was staring through the window at the stripped sunset, but now he seems to be focused on nothing in particular. He stares with a sort of vacancy and I feel a spark of connection. The vivid, fanciful colors of the evening sky tends to cause nostalgia and day dreams for me as well. "And stop with the cookies. You'll give yourself a sugar-high,"

I'm not sure the cookies should be the only thing Seto is concerned with. Mokuba guzzles down huge gulps of sugary hot chocolate. I can imagine the sugar shock creeping into his brain.

Joey stretches besides me, a full body extension starting from his toes and ending in his raised arms. He leans fully against me, his weight almost seeming a bit too much against my small shoulders. But still his physical presence increases the bond between us. I remember how his strength, his comfort and just the fact he is my brother, makes me willing to put up with a few minor embarrassments His strong presence keeps me calm, and there's so much the two of us need to figure out..

"Big brother used to have green hair," Mokuba says, completely indifferent as he nibbles on his sixth cookie.

All eyes turn to Mokuba. I thought it was quite before, but the off-the-wall comment stuns us all. Did I hear that right? The change in mood of the evening was enough to induce whiplash. Seto just glares, but Joey responds the best "Where the hell did that come from?"

"Shut up, Mokuba," Seto's comment makes me realize that I _did_ hear right. Seto purses his lips. His face is scowling, but his eyes are light and sparkling with humor.

Joey smiles. "What? I gotta hear this,"

"He used to have green hair," Mokuba repeats, grabbing for another cookie.

"It wasn't that green," Seto replies. I can see a smile creeping on his face. It's not a full smile, but a tiny grin is the best the world will ever get from the stern upright man. I didn't know he _could _smile. Coffee, comfort and a full stomach intoxicates him. He's not relaxed: we are still too alien to see that happen. But he's not playing the dictator anymore.

"It was really green," Mokuba shot back. "You could have been mistaken for a highlighter,"

"Whoa, that's pretty damn green. What'd you do, dye it to get back at your family or something?" Joey and Mokuba are feeding off or each other's energy. Despite the age difference Joey and Mokuba are surprisingly – and disturbingly – alike at times. "I always knew you were a rebel!"

Seto says nothing, so Mokuba continues. "You really shoulda seen it! It looked radioactive," Mokuba is starting to exaggerate more and more. The processed sugar fuels his wild gestures and bright eyes.

"It wasn't that bad," Seto finally saves him. His voice is devoid of anger, but trimmed with an edge of humor "It was a mishap with the pool chlorine. It hardly became that bright,"

"Highlighter! Highlighter!" Mokuba chants teasingly. He hops up, circles around Seto's chair and wraps his arms around his brother's neck from behind. "Are you mad, Big Brother?" His voice rises in falls in cute sing-song patterns.

Seto stares straight ahead and gives a fake scowl. "Go to bed, Mokuba,"

"Fine have it your way," Mokuba turns on his heels with a false "hmmph," and starts to march out of the room. He turns back half way and calls back to Joey, "Hey, come here. I got pictures!"

Joey stands up and runs after Mokuba "All right!"

And with my brother and Mokuba scampered somewhere else, the silence settles back on the room. Then I realize that I am alone with Kaiba.

I stay as still as possible and avoid eye contact. I wrack my brain for an excuse to leave the room. Bathroom? Unlady like. Sleepy? It's seven o'clock, too early. Seto says nothing, seemly quite content with his cup of coffee and whatever thoughts are going inside his head. A vacant amusement plays across his face as he stares into the distance, and it draws me like a moth to flames. I wonder what thoughts are in his head.

Is he thinking of his younger days with Mokuba? It's hard to envision Seto as a child. After all, children are supposed to be wide-eyed and innocent, whereas Seto is defined by his sharp tongue. But at one time, he had to be carefree and happy. I don't see how his childhood could have been anything but happy. As the oldest son of a multibillion dollar tycoon, he had to have been doted on and spoiled. My vivid fantasies place him and Mokuba tumbling down the stairs on Christmas morning in their matching pajamas. I see the two of them as nothing but cotton-candy sweet and angel pure.

"You're a good big brother," I say.

Seto shuts down any openness that he had with Mokuba a few minutes ago. The half-smile from ealier shuts off like a switch. "Someone has to do it," he shoots back.

I sit in silence for a second. I saw his human side earlier, but was it just my wild imagination? I complemented him and he shunned it. My cheeks burn pink. I think I could actually start to be angry with him. He apparently wants to be known as heartless if he won't even take a complement for his ability and affection with his brother.

"Uh.. thank you," His voice breaks my flustered train of thought. He says it with timidness in place of his usual confident demeanor. He speaks so quietly that I'm not even sure I was supposed to have heard it.

I smile back. "Mokuba's a cute kid,"

He chuckles a bit. Not a real laugh, but more of an amused grunt. "Don't tell him that though. He thinks because he's twelve he's a bit shot," He's yet to make eye contact with me. He stares absentmindedly into his cup of coffee.

"It's true though. He's adorable. I've always thought blue eyes were adorable,"

Kaiba does that odd laugh again, and I look up at him. I think it's first time we've made real eye contact. He has blue eyes: beautiful, dark, and shimmery like the ocean. I knew this, somewhere in the back of my mind. He has a half smirk on his face, and I wonder if he realizes how stupid I feel.

"Well," Seto places his mug down on coffee table and stands up. "I have to get to work,"

"H-huh?" I stammer. I can't believe how frazzled I am, from brief eye contact. His intimidation is limitless, and I'm just a stupid little girl. He's already partly out of the room when I manage to squeak out: "It's Saturday,"

"A pile of proposals and resumes don't know it's the weekend," He calls back over his shoulder. "The chef leaves in an hour, and comes back in at 6am, but you're welcome to help yourself in the kitchen in the meantime."

Then I realized. There are two of him. Seto is the man who plays parent to his brother, talks about doctor's appointments, and drinks coffee to late and is utterly and plainly _human._

And to be human is to be fragile. And the people of Kaiba Corp, won't accept someone fragile.

Then there was Kaiba. This is how my brother knows him. This is how the world knows him. This is the strong as stone, lose and you die mentality that manifests when he needs control. Control over what, I'm not sure.

Ah. I'm a fool for complexity. Mai called me a hopeless romantic. But romanticism doesn't change the truth. Right?

Right?


	9. Tristan

Author's note:

Someone asked me via comment what was with the masturbation scene. Since this is a Joey chapter I think it's a proper time to explain. I'm attempting to show that Joey has issues with sex and sexuality, as show with his thoughts of "sex is the easiest way to break someone" and with his "I'm enjoying myself, so I must look like a whore". Once again, Joey shows discomfort with the human sexuality as shown with comments towards Kaiba and the random punk!couple.

Season 0 reference: Miho, a ditzy girl that used to be with the gang. Tristan was insanely smitten.

* * *

I'm not a morning person, but here it is six o'clock in the morning and I'm making a mad dash towards freedom. I'm going to put as much distance between me and that damn mansion as physically possible. Night is dying off slowly, but there's no sun to break through the bitterly cold fog. I feel like a convict. The lawn is so open and long that I feel like a prisoner breaking out a prison courtyard. Somewhere in my drowsy paranoia I expect to see search lights and helicopters.

I'm the type of person that would hurl an alarm clock across the room then get up before noon, but even my anti-morning mind can tell that Kaiba has taken the dog analogies a little too far.

He has me _locked _in.

I guess it's just a property gate, but I don't like being on the wrong side of locked iron bars. It sentiment that runs thick I'm my hot blood.

I stare at the gate in disbelief. Through the bars I see the road, the sidewalk, and the part of the world that Kaiba doesn't control. I can smell the dew on the grass and it's somehow sweeter than the finely manicured lawn on the mansion side of the gate. I can see freedom, but there are literally just a few pieces of inch thick steel keeping me from it.

"Dammit," I whisper. My breath turns to fog in the frigid morning. I size up my opponent. I could scale it, if I got a good grip, but something tells me it's hooked up to an alarm. I put hand through the bars. I have thick wrists, and they barely fit through the gaps.

"Can I help you?" Someone asks condescendingly, and I jerk my wrist back through the bars like I've been burned. So much for sneaking out, but that's fine by me. I'm eighteen years old. I shouldn't _need _to sneak out of anywhere. And

A man on the opposite side of the gate comes into view. A KaibaCorp employee, if the pin on his lapel means anything. I guess he's the gatekeeper. "Oh. You're Master Kaiba's guest." The voice suddenly offers me full respect.

Master Kaiba? So we are all just his slaves now? That's something for Kaiba to get off to. "Well, can you let me out?" The disgust drips from my voice.

The guy flips a switch and the gates creak open. "Thanks, man." I say. I can feel the air change as I cross the threshold. This is life, this is freedom, this is everything Kaiba's money can't buy. "You know where a bus stop is around here?"

The man isn't pleased, but I can't say I care. "Master Kaiba has a fleet of vehicles. They are available for your use."

"No, that's fine. Seriously. Where's a bus stop?" The air is starting to smell more and more like asphalt and less like manicured flower beds. I don't need another flashy show of wealth shoved in my face.

"Keep to the right; it's at the first intersection. If you hurry you might be able to catch the 6:25 bus.

"Thanks," I start waking again. Good riddance to all things KaibaCorp.

"Uh, sir?"

I scowl and turn backwards. He just told me to hurry and now he's holding me back. "_What?"_

"Master Kaiba isn't going to be happy that I let his guest take a bus. Sir, let me just call down to the garage. There are limos, Ferraris, Lamborghini, Mercedes, a Rolls-Royce."

"God no," I guess the man is trying to help, and I don't mean to be a jerk ass, but I'm tired of Kaiba being so fucking rich. Today it's fleet of vehicles. Last night it was Kaiba and his fancy pants twenty fork dinners. Sometimes I got nothing for dinner. On the good nights I had a pop tart. That's the reason I stuff myself when there's food. Cause I'm like an animal. I eat now, because I'll never know when I'll be able to eat again. For the love of all that's holy, quit rubbing it in, Kaiba. We know you're rich - richer than I'll ever be. "Thanks, honestly. I'm fine. Tell Kaiba –"Hmm what do I want him to tell Kaiba? I have a lot of stuff I want to say. Most of them start with "go fuck yourself" and end with a list of various household tools. "Tell him that I'm going for a walk, or that I refused the car. Or something,"

"Be careful, sir,"

Be careful? I've been riding a bus since I've been old enough to walk. I've been riding one by myself since I've been six. I start jogging in the direction the man indicated. My protectiveness over my sister will have me dragging my ass back behind that iron gate, but for now I'm going to visit the one friend who has a front row ticket to the show of my ruined life. I'm going to see Tristan.

By the time I hit the bus stop, it feels like my lungs are on fire. I'm getting out of shape.

Bus rolls to a stop and with a loud whoosh the driver opens the door. I put my dollar in the bus-box. I'm now down to $22.35. I have to do something about the money situation, and _fast._

Looks like I'm not the only poor sap taking the bus this morning. A ragged old man with matted dreads takes swigs out of a paper bag. With every screeching stop, more and more freaks join me. A punk girl with a rainbow Mohawk letting an overly tattooed skinhead run his grimy hand up her fishnets. They glare at me and start making out.

I move to the opposite side of the bus. I don't like the whole touchy-feely shit.

The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round.

My brain naturally goes into that sing-song rhythm of yesteryear as I stare at the changing scenery outside of the window. The last time I sang that song I was nine, ten? Something like that.

It was one day when my so-called parents were fighting rougher than usual. Serenity and I used our loose change that we picked up off the sidewalk to buy a bus ticket. We didn't really know where we were going, but the route took us by the beach and it seemed as good a place as any to run to. We spent that day playing in the sand castles and poking at starfish that we found in the tide pool.

Serenity was more interested in the sandcastles. She took her time, carefully smoothing out each sand-wall until it was perfect. She was that kind of kid – quite and finicky. She told me that she wanted to come back here day after day, year after year, until it was big enough that we could live in. We wouldn't have to go back to our family then, she said.

I didn't have the heart to tell her that her sand-castle wouldn't last the night, moreover a year.

Eventually, I decided that we need to leave. I figured mom and dad would go into fits when they realized we were gone. I pulled Serenity by the hand, back up the hill to the bus stop, but she tugged away. She looked back one more time at her sand castle and smiled. When we reached the top of the hill, I looked back a second time, and I saw it crumble into the sea. Serenity's eyes were rapidly going bad, so she never saw the fall coming.

In the end, noone missed us. Not even the bus driver thought twice about letting two disheveled kids off on the side of the road. That's that kind of kids we were. Forgettable, unloved, and ignored.

I was running away with Serenity then. Now, I'm running away from where she is.

One awkward ride later I find that I'm getting even more strange looks as I leave the bus. A cop in a parked police car exchanges dirty looks with me.

I _do _look suspicious, I suppose. It wouldn't be the first time someone mistook me for a criminal. Tristan doesn't exactly live in the kind of area thugs like me normally come around. The pavement isn't broken, and there's a cute little river-rock pathway that leads into two stories of red-bricked normality.

I smell bacon, and my stomach growls at me. God, I'm hungry.

Do I knock? Or should I wait? By my watch it's 6:59. Tristan's family is probably still home.

His family is cool, I guess. His mom is warm and welcoming, but I always feel a burden to her. I mean there is only so many times a random blonde kid can show up at your door at 1am before it gets on your nerves. Not only that, there's a baby in the house now. Tristan's sister got knocked up a couple years ago by some bouncer at a bar she works at.

I walk to the front stoop, suddenly realizing how big of a mess I am and wondering what lie I'll manage to pull out of my ass if Tristan's mom answers the door. The little roof on the entry stoop is supported by brick columns, with crawling vines twisted around them. Everything from the polished wood door to the cheery welcome mat looks like a scene ripped out of an _American Dream _magazine.

I feel that scary since of isolation in my heart. At first it was at Kaiba's Estate, now it's at Tristan's suburb. I don't belong anywhere.

I start to raise my knuckles to knock against the door, but now I'm close enough that I can hear the goings on inside. There's a loud, cheesy moaning that sounds way to well rehearsed to be real. With the crappy jazz elevator music, I can tell its porn.

Porn plus bacon means Tristan has the house to himself. I push on the door. It wasn't even closed all the way.

Inside the noise is even louder. There's a porn playing on the big flatscreen in the living room. Some blonde chick in only a school girl skirt and tie is getting pounded by a cock bigger than her forearm. The girl's all groaning and moaning and the man's belching out stuff like "take it, slut," and "Who's your daddy, bitch".

Who says that kind of stuff during sex anyways?

I follow the smoky smell of bacon and grease into the kitchen. God, this kitchen makes me nostalgic. I've spent at least 70% of my high school nights in this red-tiled kitchen. Tristan's mom used to work third-shift, so that meant me and Tristan spend most of our nights making cock jokes about Tristan's mom love of rooster decorations, and eating any strange combination of food that look good through our blood-shot eyes. And face it, what doesn't look good through blood-shot eyes? Tristan's sister was supposed to be watching us, but as long as we didn't bother her, she didn't care. Sometime's she'd buy us booze if we'd promise to leave her alone, and sometimes we'd cut her a share of weed for not ratting us out.

Yeah, his sister was a great role model. Did I mention she's a stripper and got knocked up by a bouncer?

Now I see that it's like the old days, just me and Tristan in the kitchen. I see him in his boxers and an old t-shirt standing over a frying pan. I decide to pose against the doorframe for awhile. Wonder when he'll notice me?

Not 30 seconds later, Tristan turns around with a white-hot frying pan full of bacon. He sees me, he stops, and screams like a little girl.

Seriously, How high pitch can a grown man's voice be?

I put my fingers in my ears. "Shit, man what was that about?

"What the hell you doing barging in here like that? It could have been anyone in here. What if it was my sister or mom?" Tristan clears his throat, and makes his voice go deeper, like that's going to change the fact that he just hit a note worthy of most middle school cheerleaders. "Sis is pretty ghetto; she'd smack you with a tire iron as soon as say hey,"

I laugh at him. "Nah, I heard porn and smelled bacon. I knew it had to be you,"

Tristan puts the frying pan on the counter and we bump fists – the preferred way of showing affection by manly-men everywhere. "Sit. I made extra", He points to a chair at the kitchen table, and I do 'cause I'm freaking starving. "And while I'm thinking about it," He turns towards the counter, picks up a magazine, and throws it in front of me. "Check it out, eh?"

"Busty and barely legal?" I read the title page. A girl with striped thigh-high socks is deep-throating a lollipop. "You have porn, what else is new? I flipped the paged gingerly. "And I don't even wanna know why that page is wet, do I?"

Tristan makes a face. "It's orange juice. But that's not what I'm wanting to show you. The centerfold, man." He thumbs through the magazine to a page with a well-worn dog ear. "Here,"

I got to give him credit -the girl in the center fold is a hot one. She's lying on her stomach on a beach in some country where it must be legal to run around in a piece of dental floss and nothing else. I follow her tan legs from one page to the other. They're long, sandy and glistening with sea mist. Mmm, I'm a leg man. My gaze moves past her rounded hips, to her flat stomach, and up to her chest. I'm a tit man too, apparently. Then I finally reach her face – the very last place a man looks at in a porn mag. "What the hell man? Is that Miho?"

"Yes! Yes!" Tristan puts a plate in front of me, before turning back to fill his own. "That's the chick that broke up with me using backstreet boy lyrics way back in freshman year."

"Well granted, if you know they were backstreet boy lyrics, then year she shoulda broke up with you." I start shoveling my mouth full of eggs and bacon as soon as I can get the fork into my hand.

"Excuse me for being into pop music. I'm not much into the angsty rap-metal-liken park 'slit my wrists and die' music. Life's depressing enough without it."

We eat in silence for a while. That's another perk with having a friend for so long. It doesn't matter if we are laughing, screaming, or just not talking at all, it's all okay. It's comfortable. Here, I can forget my troubles temporarily. It's like the two of us are back in middle school, eating breakfast after a night of staying up too late, and playing video games too loudly.

"So how's Mai?" Tristan finally breaks the silence.

That takes me off guard. "What?"

"How is she?"

I narrow my eyes. "Why do you care?"

Tristan shrugs. "Because I'm not getting any, so I have to live vicariously through those who are,"

I skip right past the "getting some" part. It was once or twice. Okay, three times. But I can only recount the story so many times. She literally threw me a condom and asked for a card game. Only this time, she said she would trade my v-card for the best night of my life. And I have to say, it was a good trade. "Vicariously is a big word for someone who smells like strippers and burritos," I make a face. "And what about that Cassandra girl?"

"Actually, that's my sister's perfume," He takes the collar of his shirt and holds it over his nose. "And I'm pretty sure there's something about a hand job in a car that doesn't scream 'girlfriend.' Besides, she kinda gave up on me after we've missed so much school." He stops and actually stares me in the eye. I know he's going on one of his self-important rants when he stares trying to act all wise and fatherly. He becomes very serious. "We're going into senior year. If we miss any more we won't be able to graduate. Granted, we can file a petition for excruciating circumstances, but if they say no, I'm not sure if we'll be able to graduate with our class.

"Meh," I keep stealing glances at the girls in the magazine "If I don't graduate this year, I'm not sure I'm going to go back another year. I'll drop out and get my GED – ya know "the Good Enough Degree," High school has been hell for me. It's not my classmates; none of them are stupid enough to bully me. The teachers on the other hand, have no problem with using me as their whipping boy. I don't plan on going back there for any long than I have to.

"So how's your new life with your mom?"

Now that's the loaded question. This is the question he's wanted to ask all along. "I'm not with my mom," I say as casually as possible. I stare down on the grease running from the bacon.

I hear Tristan choke a bit, but I don't look up to see for sure. "Why?" He asks, he's trying to keep his voice level but it comes out all croaky and breathy.

"She died,"

Tristan chokes again and drops his fork. "When? How? When's the funeral?"

"It's already happened. She died when we were with Kaiba.". I finally look back up at Tristan. He's shocked. Heck, who wouldn't be shocked? It's not every day some tells you that their happily ever after got cut short due to an unexplained death and a blimp ride from hell.

"Then where are you staying?"

I avert my gaze again. I study the girls in the magazine. They looked like there barely older than Serenity. What guy would get off to a girl that young? Only a pervert. It makes me sick. "With Kaiba,"

Tristan goes stone still, and pale. "Quit joking, man," He says. His words are playful but his tone is dead even. He knows that Kaiba is that one _spark_ that can set me off like dynamite.

"Wish I was. Serenity went asking for pity I think. Not that I can really blame her, I mean we were pretty pitiful looking. But did it have to be Kaiba? I think I'd preferred Hitler to that maniac. Well, Serenity got this letter, right? And it says something like 'cause she couldn't get a chance to claim her – our –mother's stuff, that it all went to pay this huge ass medical bill she had racked up."

Tristan let out a low whistle. "I knew something was up. I've been trying to get a hold of you. You know you can stay with me. I'm sure Mai and Teá would take Serenity"

"See that's the thing. Serenity's got all these little girl ideas about family and togetherness, and she don't want to go to separate houses. But, Kaiba's psycho. He got a hard on by looking at her _crying_, Tristan," I was so disgusted when I saw that the first time I literally threw up, and now I feel the bile rising in my throat at just the thought of it. "Get this. Serenity is trying to get his attention or approval or something. She's all the time trying to talk to him. I think she could actually be attracted to him." I push my plate away. The eggs and bacon suddenly seem slimy, greasy, and unappetizing – like Kaiba.

Tristan leans forward, acting like he's going to tell me a great secret "Daddy issues," He says, his features serious.

"Daddy issues?" I repeat. What does this have to do with anything?

"Serenity has daddy issues. Think about my sister. I mean dad up and left before I was old enough to know him, but my older sister was crushed. That's why she's a stripper. It's some kinda issues with male attention,"

"I'm sorry man, but the reason your sister is a stripper is because she reeks of whore. Not 'cause her daddy split when she was in preschool,"

"Maybe, but why does she reek of whore?" He asks philosophically. He gestures into space like that's going to make his words seem more credible. "Either way, what are you going to do?"

"That's why I'm here. I just don't know." I throw my fork and it hits the plate with a clink. I cross my arms. "I guess I start with money, get a job or something,"

"There's this place hiring not far from here. It's some kind of stock-boy job I think, but I don't know the company. Heavy lifting and stuff comes easy to you,"

I make polishing motion on my bicep. "You got that right,"

Tristan starts to stand. "I'll drive you there." He stops suddenly then looks sheepishly downwards. "After I put on some pants,"


	10. Warming

Author's note. This chapter was harder than I expected. I wanted everything to be perfect because I consider this an important chapter for the main relationship. In this chapter I wanted to set up patterns for future abuse. The plan was to show Kaiba's angry tendencies as well as her naivety. This chapter is rife with references to classic works. (I've listed them below for those who aren't familiar with them) There is always and abundance of "red flag" indicators towards abusive relationships (also listed below for those no familiar with them)

Red Flags: A clear unbalance of power, obsession, immaturity on one or both parts, punching the desk, the start of distancing from family/friends, controlling where she lives/stays without consulting her, etc. Also note Seto's aversion to being touched.

References: Biblical story of Daniel and the Lion's Den, and Wuthering Heights.

Edit: You do know I uploaded two chapters right? There's a Joey chapter before this.

* * *

When I said my prayers last night, in addition to my every constant plea for God to look after us, and to keep Joey out of trouble, I added on an extra few words of gratitude. With all my heart, I thanked heaven for sending me Seto. I thanked God for sending me a temporary refuge in the most unlikely place.

And for the second time since my world fell apart, I woke up in the Kaiba mansion in a state of drowsy rose-colored stillness.

I blink my eyes against the sleepiness as I pull myself out of bed. Seto has been good to us. I went to sleep when him in my thoughts, and even now as I pull myself through the motions of washing up for the day ahead, I think about him. He is a blessing, an angel even, that swooped down in my time of need and brought me to this little piece of heaven, where my troubles are replaced with the refined elegance of mulberry silk and the scent of warm, sweet spices.

My brother wants me to feel that Seto is a lion; ferocious, cruel and ready to tear someone limb from limb as a whim. But I can only see Seto as the same breed of lion that befriended Daniel in their den.

I don't know why I'm so intrigued by Seto. He's of no consequence to me, really. I'm his charity case, his good deed for the year. At best, I'm a tax break. At worse I'm a pest, some kind of bug that annoys him with my presence.

But still, I can't help but drawn towards him. He possesses such magnetism. Seto is an attractive man, and not because of his looks, wealth, or intelligence. There's something _more_. Something that separates him from the other pretty-boys with trust funds. He's multifaceted like a well-cut diamond, all polished and shiny but still made of common coal. Seto is so plainly and amazingly_ human_ despite what he wants people to believe. I saw a glimpse of his humanity last night at dinner, and it's fueled my attraction even more.

Seto is confident. He has the ability to control everything and anything around him. He has no regrets, and never second guesses himself. He is strong, and strength means stability. He chooses his own destiny, whereas my path was chosen for me by a deadbeat father and prolonged illnesses. I'd give anything to experience that confidence, to be offered protection, to feel the sanctity of the safe haven that is Seto.. I want to know him. I want to know his hopes, his dream, his vulnerability, his flaws.

I've read too many romance novels it seems.

Romance novels aren't real, I remind myself. But perfection is.

In these walls, fantasy is reality. Is there a reason to have Van Gogh's _Irises_ framed in scrolling gold, or to have a hand carved The Tufft pier table? No, but it's pretty. The little girl inside me squeaks in delight at every little adornment. This is the closest thing to a castle I will ever experience. Nothing comes in unless King Seto allows it. Nothing goes out either. It's the lap of luxury. Everything is perfect. And it's such a welcome vacation away from my new life of homelessness and despair.

I'm choosing the path of avoidance. I don't want to think about it. I'm happy here and now. In less than twenty-four hours the cold despondency of my reality will replace my light-hearted musing. I want these last few hours of contentment before my brother uses his pride as an excuse to drag us from happiness to despair.

It's Sunday. This should be a day of leisure. I wonder how Seto spends his day? In an ideal world, extended family would come together over a large brunch for pleasant conversation, but what for a man who could quite literally own the world if he only felt like signing the right papers?

I travel the labyrinth of halls and rooms, this time attempting to commit their location to my memory. I travel every hallway I did yesterday, until I hear that familiar voice.

"Son of a bitch!" I hear Seto yell fiercely from his office.

I wish this was a coincidence. My heads lies and says it was unintentional, but my heart knows the truth. Since the moment I first pulled myself out of bed, part of me knew that I would be standing outside of Seto's office door.

And for the second time since my world fell apart, and everything becomes rosy and sweet and I feel like I'm faced with my savior.

The door to his office is slightly ajar, and I peek through the slim opening. He grits his teeth in seething frustration. His fists are both clench on the desk top like he has just slammed them down in a heated punch. He shouldn't be this human, and I shouldn't be this romantic infatuation? No, it can't be. This is merely fascination and adoration. Nothing more.

And yet, with him and I only separated by my inhibitions and a half-open door, I feel my heart flutter like a silly school girl's.

I open the door lightly. He still has his head bowed in irritation. The large window behind him shows the day at its hottest. The sun refracts through the crystal windows until it leaves halos wherever I look. "Uh, Good morning," I say timidly. Nervousness and I have become good friends whenever I am in the same room with Seto, and even now I feel my muscles tense.

"What?" He snaps his head up and barks at me. Oh God, I knew this was bad. Why did I even came here? He was angry enough when I was eavesdropping. He was working, he didn't need my interruptions. His eyes burn with outrage. They spark, lighting up the blue in his eyes like an atomic bomb flashes against the blue skies. I barley have time to squeak and backpedal.

And then, he composes himself just as quickly. "Ah! Serenity!" The flash in his eyes die down, and suddenly it's back where we were. The sun still shines halos around us and the quite stillness envelopes the house once more. "Forgive me .I'm not angry at you. These numbers are so damn wrong."

"Oh," I'm a little shaky from his sudden outburst. "Why are you so angry?"

Seto picks up a calculator and types out a few numbers with the eraser end of a pencil, before turning to his computer and inputting the data. "I'm recalculating."

I purse my lips. Recalculating-what a generic answer. I would give everything short of my sanity to have a proper conversation with Seto, yet he always manages to cut me down. "What are you recalculating?" I try again.

"I'm not sure you'd get it," Seto mutters under his breath. He starts biting his bottom lip. Is this his reaction to uncertainty? It's cute really, to see him make such a confused expression. He sighs deeply. "I have this plan of opening up outlet stores for various games we produce, or games that have our technology in them. I found that buying repossessed houses at auctions and then re-designing them is cheaper and quicker than building from scratch." He glances at his calculator again, then at the computer screen, then back to the calculator. He grimaces. "I had the budget team do a report of the building of stores, but not the buying of old houses. I want to know that information as soon as possible. It can't wait until Monday,"

"I see," I take that as the reason for his outburst earlier. Mokuba had said that Seto isn't the best with stress, and working weekends to cover someone else's duties seems like it would be frustrating to even the mildest mannered of gentleman.

I watch Seto as he intently studies and rechecks his numbers. He works a few more figures, before throwing the calculator to the side in frustration."What do you want anyways?" He asks, mild hatefulness coats his tone.

What do I want? I would love to speak the truth, and let all my girlish desires pour out of my heart. I want to understand him. I want to see him. I want to be near him. By just being close to him, my world is secure, and nothing seems quite as scary. What I'd give to tell him all of these thoughts! But Seto is a man of practicality, and I need an excuse to stay with him that isn't laughable. I remember the thick bookshelves that line the walls. "I just wanted a book to read," I say, rather convincingly. I doubt he could tell that I had been stumbling for excuses.

"Oh, you can read?" He says nonchalantly.

"Of course I can read!" I know Seto is a bit crass at times but that's just rude. It's my turn to get upset. It's a humiliation and a touch of anger. "I'm not a dog. I can read!"

"Ah, that came out much harsher than I intended. I thought you had been blind your entire life. I made the natural assumption that you hadn't been able to learn,"

"Oh," The logic of his words stunned me. I was ready for an insult. Joey had said multiple times that Seto only spoke through insults. "I wasn't always blind, and I know how to read Braille. Whenever I was in the hospital I'd read to pass the time. Mostly, only the classics are translated into Braille though,"

"I see," The chair squeaks as he stands up and moves towards the bookshelves. "What are you looking for?"

"Hmm, let's see," I put my finger to my bottom lip in a show of deep thought. I'm trying my best to act normally, but I'm overjoyed that we are having a conversation that isn't strained. Not only that but he has bothered to take a break from his work for me. The little Serenity inside my head jumps and squeals. I feel like I am one step closer to really knowing Seto. He is obviously a man of logic - not tact. He may be an expert in all things business, but socially he's a child. "What book? Wuthering Heights is my favorite."

"That's a great book," He searches through the shelves, before pulling out a worn hard-covered book. He hands it to me. "It's such a moving tragedy,"

I shake my head strongly. "No! It's a romance! They love each other deeply! Catherine believes their souls to be made of the same material after all."

"A romance, perhaps, but a mutually destructive one. And those are far less romantic in real life." Seto takes a step backwards and examines me before him like I'm some kind of offering. I feel his eyes start at my bare toes and continue their scrutiny upwards. This is the third or fourth time he's done this, and each time I respond by turning away with a blush. Is this is way of learning me, like I want to learn him?

"T-thanks for the book," I stutter, trying to coax him into talking to me as a person, instead of examining my flaws.

It works, and for the first time he doesn't look through me or see me as some subhuman object. He makes strong eye contact and seems genuinely interested in _me._ I'm not sure which one makes me more uncomfortable.

"Serenity," The way he says my name sounds like a melody. His speech is so refined that each syllable seems like smooth notes rolling off of his tongue. "I was under the impression that Braille was extremely difficult if not learned as a preschooler,"

"Well, I didn't find it hard to learn. I knew how to read a little before I went blind, so it was just a matter of identifying each letter by its dots. That's called level one Braille. Level two is sort of like text talk, it has a lot of contractions and abbreviations."

Seto nods slightly. If it's possible for even a grin to be sarcastic, he somehow manages it. "Congratulations. I never thought I'd be one-upped by Wheeler's sister,"

"What do you mean?" I ask. He goes over to the lonely long couch and sits. I follow for no other reason than to be near him.

"I don't know Braille. I'm fluent in English, Spanish, French, Japanese," he counts off on his fingers as he names off languages. "I also know some rudimentary Chinese, German, and Latin. But not Braille"

Wow. To think I know something that Seto is hard to rationalize, and for him to admit that he doesn't know it is even more shocking. Not wanting our conversation to die down, I rack my brain for topics. "Oh! Spanish! One of my nurses was a Latina. She tried to teach me a few phrases but I hardly remember the meanings. I know one was 'te quiero,' or something like that,"

"I love you," He mutters under his breath.

"W-what?" I feel my face go ghost-white with the exception of my burning cheeks. I've snapped. I start questioning reality. Did he just say that? This man loves _nothing, _with the exception of winning, glory, and perhaps his little brother.

"I love you. That's what you just said. 'Te quiero' means 'I love you'," If he notices my sudden paleness and discomposure, he ignores it. He continues without missing a beat. "I love you, or I desire you. Either one. It's a nuisance of the language. "

My breath catches in my throat. 'I love you'! Did I actually let my stupid brain think that was said in anything but jest? I can't believe that I let that cross my mind for a second. I'm stupid if I think that Seto and I can even be friends. But yet here we are, sitting by each other with no stress or ill feelings. Adoration, infatuation – am I confusing these for gratitude? Everything about him attracts me. If I'm the moth, weak and fragile and worthless, then he is the ever-changing flame, flickering between humanity and cold professionalism.

I look at him and I wish that I could touch him. I want to feel his skin. I want the proof that he's human underneath those expensive Armani suits and layers upon layers of self imposed isolation.

Seto's hand rests beside me on the couch. His wrists are rather narrow for a man of his height, and his nails are a little too long and groomed to be average. My heart starts beating faster, and with the least flair as I can manage, I pat his hand.

And he flinches away from me.

I don't know what happened. I barely made contact. It was just two quick taps with my finger tips and he tensed. He flinched away from me like I was a threat to him, like I'm a monster and not some little five foot tall girl that he could easily over power. Any further personal communication is impossible now, and I can all but see all the fragile lines between us snap.

"I have to get back to work," Seto states. He's calm, he's acting like nothing happened. Am I going crazy? No, I saw it. I felt it. But here is acting like it didn't happen. His voice is steady and strong. He moves away from me and back behind his desk.

"Ah, Mister Kaiba," He may appear unaffected but I do not. My voice shakes as I scramble for any last hopes of communication. "Can you help me? You know so much and I don't. What do you think me my brother and I should do? We don't really have a plan,"

The leather on the chair squeaks as Seto sits back down. The desk is between us now, a fitting mirror for the distance that has resurfaced. "What do you want to know?" He asks coldly.

"Everything, anything. What would you do if you were in my place?"

"There's not much you can do. You could try to contest it, since there is no way you could have known, but I doubt that work. You could always have your brother contest it because he wasn't given any notification or inheritance. But if the estate has already been sold then there's nothing you can do about it. What do you have planned?"

"I-I I Don't know!" I feel shaky, weak. My path of avoidance has ended and the truth is facing me. I don't want to face reality. I'm not crying but tears well in my eyes. "Joey doesn't want to stay here. He says he'd die if he has to stay here. He says we have to be separated again and go with different friends, and I don't want to!" My inner brat is coming out and my bottom lips quivers. I'm going to be strong. I'm not going to cry. I will not let this end in an outburst. "He actually thinks we can start over. We're not even out of high school!"

"Listen," Seto commands. His voice is smooth as silk and strangely calming. He has an uncanny ability to change tones at will. "You're brother- how do I put this—isn't the most logical of thinkers. He doesn't know or care about your wants. He doesn't realize that you are from different walks of life. A girl from middle class suburbia and scum from the wrong side of the tracks are hardly compatible. He doesn't realize that you two are from different worlds. You're better off going your separate ways before he drags you down to his level."

His words make more sense than I wish they did. It's all true, but once again I want to be blind to it. Joey is still my brother. But those years apart have changed us both. But still, he is my brother.I wish Kaiba wasn't making sense. I wish I didn't believe him.

Avoidance has become my friend. I stare at finger tips. My nails have gotten longer recently. They are quite pretty.

There's a sharp knock on the door. "Master Kaiba," the butler says. "Master Joseph has returned."

"Speak of the devil" Seto mutters, dismissing the servant with a hand wave. "You're brother tried to sneak out at six the morning. He obviously thinks he has a plan for you two," Seto has slipped into his Kaiba persona, and his words come out gruff and tinted with sarcasm.

Joey walks in, his stride cocky. With every step he takes loose dirt from the soles of his shoes scatter on the floor, and I bet Seto dies a little inside with each dusty footprint left behind. "You need to talk to humble little me, Kaiba?" My brother mocks, but before Seto answers, Joey turns to me. "Hey, Sis, hope you didn't get too comfy. Let's make those phones calls. You're going to be staying with Teá"

But I don't want to. Why hasn't he considered that? Seto's words are still clear to me, but I shake those thoughts out of my head. "No, I'm not," I say, weakly.

"We can do this. I went to talk to Tristan this morning, and he's helped me put things into perspective. I've applied for a job. I know it's gonna be rough, but things will be okay. You just gotta hang on a little longer," Joey's look softens and he movers in close to me, and underneath the scars and weathered skin I see my brother. Not how he is here and now with bitterness in his heart, but how he used to be. His hazel eyes shine with pure honesty and I'm taken back to our childhood games of make believe. I used to think that anything was possible as long as we imagined it. That table that dad smashed could be our fort. The lady on the corner who wore fishnets and pumps even in winter could be a beautiful and noble queen. Our lives could be golden, if we just wished it.

As children, we could go anywhere., but we're not children anymore and we can't live on silly dreams alone. I shake my head slowly. "We won't be able to do this,"

Then, Joey is no longer the sweet kid with eyes that shine with honesty. He's disappointed that I don't believe in him, maybe even angry. What happened to us? I used to know nothing negative, but now I feel my body being bogged down by the blueness that has become me. I used to think Joey was my knight that could do no wrong, but now we worlds apart. It's glaring obvious, even though we both search each other's eyes for what used to be.

"She stays here." Seto commands,.

My eyes go wide when I hear his voice from behind me. I hadn't once named staying here. I hadn't even figured it'd be an option. For the second time since my world fell apart, Seto has given me a place to stay without so much as asking my approval. This control – it's my security. He's making sure that I am safe. After all, if Seto commands it, noone can prevent it. It makes a warmth spread through my heart.

I turn on my heels, the joy and gratitude lighting my eyes like fireworks. "Seriously? Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!"

I'd love to run over to the desk and throw my arms around Seto. He sits behind his desk, and even though he's facing me he is staring past me and glaring at my brother smugly. "If you stay out of my way, Wheeler, you could stay here with your precious sister,"

I turn back to Joey. He's looks from me to Seto with fire in his eyes. The little boy inside him is dead, and though I have a home, I feel more alone than ever without my brother. I don't understand male ego and male pride. What does it matter who we stay with as long as we are healthy and out of danger?

"What the hell ever," I can see that Joey's pride as been shattered, but he's trying to gather the pieces and walk off without showing the damage.

"See you at dinner," Seto calls mockingly to Joey.


	11. Down The Toliet

Author's note: Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it takes me forever to update. Shame on me! Has anyone managed to read the Tristan Chapter? At last notice we were having tech issues. Someone shoot me a message to tell me if its back up or not.

This chapter has a nice bit of interaction between Joey and Seto. I love writing these two! I hope the tension comes across well. Beware of Kaiba's prick-ish scheme here. By the way, the next chapter is already beingwritten. :)

ReEdit: Welllll frikkkkk. I just got told that there is a random Ryo x Marik bit stuck on the end of this chapter. That is NOT my story. That is a story called Scar Tissue on . I must have accidentally copied-pasted it. I'm so sorry.

* * *

I'm not normally a bitter kid. I roll with the punches, I go with the flow. Really, what's the point of being stiff and uptight? Life isn't going to change for you. Some people draw the short straw in life, and I just happen to be one of those people.

Sometimes I'll lose my cool – like the times I start thinking too much, or when too much shit starts piling up at once. In reality though, it ain't a big deal. Life's not a big deal. Ninety-nine percent of my life had already determined by the time I breathed out my first helpless little cry. Fact of the matter is, some people are born with silver spoons, while others have plastic forks.

I didn't pick to be a looser, or a punk, or whatever it is that adults whisper as I pass by. "I'd blame parents," or "If that was _my kid_," they'd gossip to each other. Yeah well, I don't have parents to speak of, and I'm glad I'm not your kid too, lady. But whatever, I'm okay with that. I'm a goofy kid. I don't take nothing seriously, 'cause nothing takes me seriously.

But there are three things in life that really piss me off. I hate it when something hurts those I care about. I hate it when some arrogant bastard play like they're god's gift to _everything_, and I hate – really _hate_ – when people don't respect me.

Then there's Kaiba.

Kaiba is all three and more. He's everything I despise in life and everything that I didn't even know that I hated. He's all courtesy and good intentions with Serenity, but I've been around the block a couple times, and I can tell there's something going on in his head. He might be able to lead Serenity by a string, but it'll be a cold day in hell before he has me fooled with his savior act. The quicker I get me and my sister out of this house, the better. It's a prison. It's prison made of diamonds and gold, but a prison nonetheless.

That's why I got a job. It's some type of stockboy-meets-construction job, one of those jobs that are all muscle and no brain. It's my job to carry cinderblocks through the maze of cement buckets and haphazardly placed two-by-fours, while some middle aged man with a beer-gut yells at me to get my ass to work.

It wasn't hard to get the job, either. Apparently, they are always hiring because no one's body manages to hold up through this type of labor very long – you're in at 18, and out by 30. Either way, I signed some papers, pissed in a cup, and was told to show up first thing Monday morning ready to work.

So for my sanity and the potential innocence of my sister, I have to get out of this house.

So when Kaiba called me into his office at six-fucking-thirty in the morning, all I can think about is that he's making me late for my first day at work. Does he know that I have a job? Probably. Is he just being a prick about it? Even more probable.

"What is it now?" I snap, as fling open the door and storm into Kaiba's office. I need to get in and out as soon as possible. That job isn't going to wait on me – not when there are thousands of other poor bastards like me that need money but aren't skilled enough to do anything but menial labor for whatever rich prick calls the shots.

Kaiba is leaning against his desk. Even this early in the morning, he's fully dressed in a white suit and tie, whereas I stubbed my toe attempting to throw on a wrinkled old band tee. He doesn't even look at me as I come in. "Have a seat,"

"No," I retort sharply.

He keeps his poker face, but stands. The day is breaking through the window behind him, and the sun at his back makes his body cast a long, looming shadow over me. "Where are you going?"

Kaiba can't control me, so why should I hide anything? "Work,"

He walks around me. He's circling me, zoning in on me like a buzzard when it's watching its prey slowly suffer and die. I tell myself I'm not going to die today, but then I hear the door close, and once again I'm trapped here. It's me and him in his office; his domain. "But you're already here,"

What? "What do you want from me?" Never mind, I'm not going to play mind games or riddles today. I have a mission - a purpose – and it's too early in the morning for me to act like I give a damn. I will get Serenity away from here. End of subject. I turn on my heels, but Kaiba is behind me and, much closer than I anticipated. I almost run into his chest. I am so close that can see how the white fibers of his suit jacket interlock and weave together endlessly.

This is too close for comfort. I try to push past him but he push my body back against the wall.

_What the fuck? _My mind goes blank for a second. Kaiba is a bastard, sure, but he's a weak little trust-find bastard that's too spoiled and babied to manage to hold his own against me. How does this weak little _kid_ get off thinking he can put his hands on me? I slap his hand off my shoulder. "Don't." I threaten. I feel the pent up anger boil in veins.

"Wheeler, why did you take this job?" His voice is even. He's unaffected by the anger rolling off of my skin . This isn't a question of concern, but something loaded, something with hidden meanings.

"To get the fuck away from you," I just glare into his eyes. I hate those eyes. Blue like some freaky fungus that devours all it touches or a nuclear flash that kills everything. I don't need to tell him anything. I won't tell him anything. I just narrow my eyes.

"You didn't read the fine print when you signed on for your little job," It's not a question. He backs up slightly and now I have room to breathe, but I can't help but think this is a taste of freedom that will soon be torn from me.

"It was a job. I needed money. What's your point?"

Kaiba doesn't tell me right away. He reaches in his jacket pocket and pulls out a fold piece of paper. It's way too messy to be something of his. I see dirty, smudged finger prints as he shoves it towards me. "Is this your signature?"

I open the fold. It's my writing. It's the contract I signed to get that construction job. I know that was nothing more than a rhetorical question, but he isn't the only one that can evade answers. "How'd you get this?"

"Read the highlighted parts,"

I scan until I see the bright yellow mark. "By my signature I, the undersigned, understand and consent to location transfers and changes in employment positions within the company as seen fit by Dragon Construction and its parent companies, which include but is not limited to Dragon Regulators, Blue Shipping and Transport, KaibaCorp -"

KaibaCorp?

I lower the letter. I feel all confidence drain from me. Reality hits hard, like a break. My cheeks go slack, my eyes go dull – I put on my best game face even thought though I'm internally shaking and shattered. What does this mean? Never mind, I know what this means. I just don't want to face it.

Kaiba owns me.

He can ship my ass to Siberia or Timbuktu or some place I've never heard of and can't pronounce. I stare into his eyes and clinch my teeth. I keep my voice low and even. "Bastard. What are you going to do to me?"

Nothing's that big of a deal, I remind myself. I've powered through years of being knocked down, fucked ver, and noone giving a damn. I can get through this. But how is it that life has been ruined, not once, but _twice, _by nothing more than ink on paper?

But it's more than ink on paper, its that's bastard _Kaiba._

I stare at Kaiba. How is it that this prick, this punk-ass who's too big of pussy to step out of his daddy's shadow to make a name for himself manages to keep fucking me over? He just smiles at me smugly and I feel the heat of hatred rise through my chest. He's not even looking at me. He's looking through me.

"I'm not an unreasonable man," Kaiba states. He's backed off and now leaning on his desk again. Since he has cornered me in circumstance, I don't need to be physically cornered. "I'm not going to take you from your sister,"

I stiffen. I wear my weakness for my sister on my sleeve. This could get ugly. I don't trust words from a snake.

"In fact, I'm going to bring you closer to her."

Those words are laced with poison. My brain scatters for potential manipulations, but I draw a blank. I have no idea what he's planning. There is nothing I can guess. This has become a game of chess, but with my sister and I as the pieces.

And frankly, I suck at chess.

"I think you should be transferred to a position at the KiabaCorp tower," Kaiba states.

This is starting to make even less sense. KaibaCorp tower is full of white-collar office workers, and while that's out of my element, sitting in a cubicle seems like a better alternative than breaking my back lifting construction equipment.

That seems like such a better job than where I was going. But I know not to trust Kaiba. "What's the catch?"

"There is none. You will be working there." he says moving behind the desk. He opens a drawer somewhere and pulls out a piece of paper. Sarcasm moves up in his voice and he pretends to read. "But, oh wait, according to this list there's only one opening," I can feel the impending attack. I'm not sure what it is, so I can only brace myself. "Restroom Janitorial Staff, or in words you can understand, mutt." He finally looks at me. "Toilet scrubber."

That blow came down hard and my eyes open wider in rage. "Are you crazy? You want me to clean up your shit, literally?" I have never been in the same room with this lunatic without one of us leaving with murderous intentions. He must be insane if he think he can push me that far. "No thanks! I'll take the chances at construction. Falling off a building and dying is better than this!" I turn sharply, heading towards the door.

"I don't think so, Wheeler. If you leave, there is _no job_." I stop, but I'm not turning around. If I turn around I know I will beat in his face with my fists. He can speak to my back. He doesn't deserve face to face interaction. "If you remember you have to go where _I_ want you to go. I want you in KaibaCorp tower. It's that or not job at all."

"I'll get a job doing something else." I shrug. "Simple as that,"

Kaiba laughs. Literally _laughs_ at me. The noise feels like a slap – painful and humiliating. I finally turn to face him and I hope he can see the rage in my eyes.

"You don't understand, Wheeler. If I don't want you to be hired, you_ won't_ be hired. I own the majority of shares in every big business in the city." He punches his words like I'm too simple to understand if he speaks at normal speed. "_You can't get away from me."_

I speak completely calm "Kaiba, no one tells me what I can or can't do."

I can't get away from him? I'll let those words stay in my brain. I'll let it fuel every move I make. I'll keep it there until it festers, boils up, and rots until it looks just like his soul. I swear if it's the last thing I do, I will make him eat his words. I'll make him feel what it's like to be knocked down at every turn.

I hate – _really hate_ – when someone disrespects me.


	12. The Kiss: Part 1, Beauty and the Beast

Kiss Part 1: Beauty and the Beast

POV: Serenity.

Using Beauty and the Beast as a metaphor.

* * *

What day is it?

I'm not sure anymore. I'm curled up on the couch, pretending to read. In reality, I watch the world from behind my book cover.

Joey is seated to my right. He has his hands clasp behind his head, reclining back with his jaw slack and his fatigue-glazed eyes staring towards the ceiling.

There's a painful gnawing at my soul whenever I think that Joey is still angry at me for not leaving with him. For the past two or three days I've woken up earlier than usual just to try to speak with him, but apparently he's long gone before the crack of dawn. Noone sees him again until he drags himself in at six or seven that evening, and he typically eats dinner alone in the kitchen. I'm not sure what's he's doing when he leaves for hours and at a time, and honestly it worries me.

I made my brother swear to me once before that he would cut ties with his old life style. Whenever I would hear him talk with Duke or Tristan, pieces of the truth would slip out. When I pieced together the remnants of information, I was forced to face the awful truth of my brother's less than Kosher experiences. Smoking, stealing, drugs, arrests – It made my chest hurt from sadness and emotions that I still can't understand

I hope that hasn't happened again.

Mokuba is sitting at Joey's feet, sketching pictures of comic book heroes and watching a Disney movie that he's too old for. With neither Seto nor Joey ever home, Mokuba and I have found a sort of comfort with one another. Mokuba will come in and chatter about a new video game, or an interesting school subject. Even in the warmth of the heated house, he never wears anything other than long sleeves, and not once have I heard a mention of friends or other children.

Beauty and the Beast dance together in a delicate waltz. This was my favorite movie as a little girl. What girl doesn't want this fairy-tale type of emotional bond? We all want a bond that transcends looks, money, or social status. I find myself lost in the old school Disney animation and brilliant yellow of Belle's iconic dress.

I think I saw this movie yesterday, or was that Cinderella? I'm not sure anymore. Time passes by so oddly in this house. The stages of sleep and wake all go by in a golden blur. I wake up, I eat, and then there is nothing. My entire day is passed day dreaming, or reading whatever book it is I've snagged from Seto's office. There's not structure to life here. There is no way to keep the time. Without a connection to the outside, I don't know the difference between Mondays and Saturdays. I sleep and wake whenever I fancy, so even morning and night has blurred into one another. They say time itself is a human invention, and Kaiba has forsaken even that. This house lives outside of time.

I always knew Kaiba wasn't entirely human.

"I always hated this movie. It's horrible how they try to make a girl being imprisoned and abused by a monster so romantic," Joey finally breaks the silence with a snide remark. His words come out slightly slurred from the lack of sleep.

It takes me a moment to realize what he's talking about, but now I can see he's transfixed on the television screen.

"That's a great lesson isn't it? Here's a lesson for you, Serenity. If someone is abusive to you, _don't put up with that crap_."

I don't speak. Leave it to my brother to misconstrue something as easy as love. The Beast clearly loves Belle. He gives her the best wing of the house. If he really hated her, she'd be in the dungeon, not with him eating dinner made by enchanted plates. The Beast loves her, he just doesn't know how to express it yet. However, I don't want the first words between my brother and I to be yet another disagreement, so I just nod. A cartoon is a foolish thing to fight over anyways.

"Anyways," Joey stands up and yawns. "I'm hitting the hay. Half-pint, you too, it's almost midnight,"

With Mokuba and Joey going to sleep, I find myself once again alone.

Seto is never home, so I occupy my days with reading. He rarely speaks to me. But when he does I feel my world light up. He speaks casually of other countries. He speaks of Lamborghinis, Ferraris, and cars that I've never even heard of like my mother would speak of our old station wagon. It's a world that's so easy to be caught up in. But still the conversation is sparse, and he normally only answers what I ask.

So I spend my days longing for something more from him.


	13. The Kiss: Part 2

Authors note: You do realize this isn't a love story, right? You do know that Seto's the bad guy, right? Someone please comment and tell me if I'm presenting the creepiness correctly. Also, can anyone figure out what makes Seto do something like this? Everytime he's talked to her, he's been in a certain state of mind... can you figure it out?

* * *

Part 2:

It's one in the morning before I finally settle into bed. I'm in that warm semi-conscious state, where I begin slipping in and out of sleep, with only the pleasant memories of warmth and happiness dancing across my mind. It's been a good day, I think, and now that the drowsiness has set in I just want to–

_Thwack._

I wake from my state of near sleep with my nerves twitching and my muscles tense. What was that? I can still hear that sudden loud sound echoing through this perpetually quiet house. I sit up stiffly, and squint my eyes through the darkness. Nothing's amiss. I sit stone still and strain my ears for another hint of noise. Nothing. Did I imagine it? No, something must have woken me up, and I can't shake the feeling that something wrong.

_Thud, bang, crash_

The reverberations crawl like caterpillars across the floor, up the bed, and through my body. Something that forceful could only come from something massive. I throw the covers off, and I feel the cold world on my toes as I start to get out of bed. There's a sound of shattering glass in the distance. I'm even more confused now.

I'm slightly scared. There's a sense of dread rising in my spine. It's unfounded, but still there. I remind myself that this is Seto's mansion, though. This is outside of reality, and outside of the world of gray and darkness. Nothing can come into the mansion without Kaiba knowing it. Still, my nerves are on end as I move into the hallway to follow the sounds.

The hallway is dim. The outdoor security lights barely cast enough light to make the hallway appear in shades of black and grays. Every few steps I stop to listen to the stillness being broken by a crescendo of noise. The trail leads me to a room a few yards away from my own. A yellow light bleeds through the gaps between the heavy door and its frame. It's shut, but I don't dare see if its locked.

Something's going on inside. I see movement, and I hear the buzz of a muffled voice. I've heard an agitated grunt, and a few curses, but I know that voice. I hear that voice both awake and in my dreams.

Seto.

Seto is inside doing _something, _but I can't figure out what. The chaotic loudness from earlier comes again and at this closeness it sounds like something wooden being punched. Is it a desk? A wall? I can't tell, but now I hear what sounds like a large piece of furniture toppling over.

I'm standing no more than six inches from the door, when it's jerked open violently. The hinges quiver as the heavy door slams into the wall

It's Seto, and he's_ furious._

The violent forces and sounds leave me disoriented. I'm not sure what's going on, but I'm so close to him that I can feel the air smoldering around him in his anger. Behind his intimidating figure, I can see into his room. It w_as_ a bedroom, but the now it's been destroyed with overturned furniture and scattered trinkets. I see multicolored remnants of a smashed tiffany lamp, and desk drawer that that's been ripped from its place. The sheets have been overturned and mirrors broken.

Did Seto get so angry that destroyed a room?

My mouth goes dry at the show of anger. I realize I'm holding my breath like even the slightest change in air currents would set him off like a spark to dynamite. My vision shakes and blurs as I raise my face to meet his eyes. I stall by following the checks of his flannel pajamas up his long, lean legs. Why am I afraid to look at his face? This is Seto, this is my savior, so why are my knees shaking? Why can't I catch my breath?

I force my eyes to meet his and I feel like I'm staring into Hell. The calming ocean blue of his eyes has become a great swirling whirlwind of flame, misery, and rage. Hell is full of hateful rancor and malicious intent – and that's all I can see in Seto's eyes. While Seto could never be called a tender man, I've never seen anything in him that could compare to this sinking feeling of fear and dread that he is instilling in me this very moment.

I'm starting to back pedal. I have never seen such hostility. Every muscle in his body looks tight, tense, and ready to pounce. His jaw is so tense that I don't know how it's not cracking under the pressure. I turn to run back to my room. I want to run away from my fear. I want to go lock myself in my room and burrow under the covers and forget the image of his angry face. I start to run back to the sanctity of dreams, but I just can't move my legs fast enough. Seto catches my wrist in a vise grip and pulls me back to him.

I squeak as I feel him tug on my arm. Every muscles in my body tenses and my heart _skip-skip-beats_ like a little rabbit, so alone and vulnerable and open to attack. Seto spins me around to face him, and I can see that his features of softened slightly. The storm in his eyes has begun to clear but I still feel that he is volatile. The air is still heated and anxious, and I'm afraid that anything I say or do will cause him to fly into a fury.

"What are you doing?" Seto's voice has always been deep and gravelly, but I still jump at the roughness.

My voice is weak and tense as I stutter out an answer. "I-I heard something and I didn't know that our bedrooms were next to each other and I heard these really loud sounds and that scared me and I wanted to come see what it was. I'm sorry!" The words spill out of my mouth in a jittery stream. My eyes are large and filled with tears as I look up at him. We're physically close, and he's so tall that my neck cracks at the unnatural angle.

"Are you afraid of me?" Seto's voice is coarse, and the low light makes him seems even more intimidating. His fingers are wrapped around my wrists. Even though I can tell he's using only a fraction of his strength, but I still can't twist myself out of his grip.

How am I supposed to answer this question? I'm both frightened and enthralled by Seto. I could spend hours just in the same room with him. I find intrigue in every facet of his life. I want to be the one that is there with him when he drinks coffee at midnight, or stays up too late working on a presentation. I want to be the one with him. I am fixated on him. It's a girlish infatuation, but he's just so _perfect_.

However, there are those times when things get out of hand. The world just isn't up to his standards, so there are moments when his hateful and tactless words become violent outbursts at a desk or wall. There's also our height difference. He is literally over a foot taller than me. I couldn't imagine the brute force behind those strong arms that are perpetually hidden under layers of shirts and jackets.

"Yes," I answer timidly, quietly. "Y-you're bigger than me, and s-sometimes you're scary,"

I feel relief sweep through me as I see the anger drain from Seto's face. Did something I say or do jar him out of his enraged stupor? My heart beat relaxes with the subsiding intensity of the moment. "You are rather tiny, aren't you?" He seems like he's almost amused at my answer, perhaps even by my fear. Of course Seto isn't anything to fear, I remind myself.

Seto doesn't bother to hide his roaming eyes as he studies every line of my body. It's embarrassing, but there's something about the way his eyes shine that I feel like he's finally being attentive to me. He locks eyes with me, and I think I can feel my spine melt. He's making sincere eye contact, and in this moment – no matter how brief it may be – I know that I am all he can see. I want to capture this moment and lock it in my heart for eternity. For Seto to have his mind fixated on something other than business is a rarity, but scarceness of it makes me cherish it that much more.

"Five foot even," I say. As the words come out of my mouth I feel ashamed of them. Romance novels always play out with some type of flirtatious banter, but here I am squeaking out stats about my stature.

Romance. I want that with Seto.

"You're tiny, fragile even." Seto muses, as he still keeps the grip on my wrist. I feel like I'm being studied like a rare exotic creature, and oddly that doesn't bother me. He moves closer towards me, and suddenly I can't comprehend what I'm feeling. It's like the time that I stole gulps of my mom's coffee. My head feels dizzy and clear all at the same time. My blood is pulsing like little butterflies under my skin. It's a rush that my rational mind just can't comprehend. Every cell in my body screams to move, screams to run, just to do something to burn this nervous energy. "There's a despondent beauty in fragility," Seto finishes, all the while my soul is dancing.

Beauty. I'm beautiful?

I'm filled to the brim with joy and nervous excitement for the attention he's lavishing on me. I try to act mature, but I can feel my cheeks beam with unrivaled happiness. For the first time in my life, a man is paying attention to me. But he's not just a man - Seto is perfection. Seto is a god among men. Seto is what little boys desire to become.

"Serenity," Only his voice could make my name sound like music. "If you're so scared of me, why don't you run?"

"You still have a hold of me," I look down at my arm. Even in his pajamas, Seto shows no skin other than his hands. His long sleeves tickle my skin. "Why haven't you let me go?"

"Because I don't want to let you go just yet,"

He doesn't want to let me go. I blush. I don't want him to let me go, either.

He brings my captured hand up to him. I can feel his breath caress the thin skin of my inner wrist. "Your wrists are weak," He states as he uses his other hand to trace my veins like a road map. My skin tingles with the exhilaration. It's just my hand, but it's much more intimate than I could ever imagine.

When Seto and I make eye contact again, our closeness takes my breath away. Our faces are so close that I can see each of his individual eyelashes, how some overlap and crisscross. For Seto to be so much older than me, his face is smooth and lacks any kind of stubble or imperfections. He still has my wrist, and the place that our skin touches tingles. In the physical sense he has me captured, but considering that only a week ago he recoiled from my touch, this seems more like holding hands.

I know what's going to happen. I can feel it. My heart shakes in my rib cage. Part of me wants this to happen, the other part is as embarrassed as a school girl. Our foreheads touch and sensuality takes over. I know Seto is going to kiss me.

He tilts his head, his mouth connecting with my trembling lips. I can't think, I can only feel: his smooth, moist lips, the heat of his breath tickling my cheek, his warm heart beat pulsing next to my own. His lips rake across mine. I think I'm drowning. He seizes all of my senses. I smell that spicy, earthy scent. I see the blueness of his eyes, as stormy as the ocean. I feel his fingers still around my wrist. He keeps pulling me deeper and deeper into this world where nothing is real. It sends little sparks of euphoria up my spine, and I close my eyes. I relax into him, letting him guide me.

I feel every curve of his lips. I'm in that rush, that exhilaration of my first kiss .

Seto pulls away first, and now that he's gone my stability has left too. I'm shaking and weak. What is he thinking? Is he regretting this? He regrets me, I just know he does. He thinks I'm too young. I'm just a little girl. He thinks I'm a bad kisser. He regrets everything that just happened. I'm insane. But as usual, his eyes are notoriously hard to read.

My brain is overloading. I push away from his chest. "I-I'm sorry," the words come out in a blur, before I turn away. I tug away from him, but Seto let's my wrist go easily, and I run away from him as quickly as possible.

I don't look back as I retreat to my room. I wonder if he's watching me. Is he standing there shocked? Why can't I process these emotions? This closeness is what I've wanted all this time, but it still sends me into turmoil. Is it the age difference? Is it my brother's hatred toward Seto? Is it the obvious charity-like situation of our relationship?

I slam the door harder than I intended and lock the door behind me. I know what I feel, but passion of my own emotions is terrifying. I love Seto. It may be a girlish, foolish love, but it is still love.

I love Seto.


	14. Hands

AN: Some sexual connotations in Serenity'a monologue about opening up and accepting. Take it as you will. I'm trying to work more symbolism and sexuality into this as this story will be taking that turn rather shortly. And yes, Joey's hands are horrible and flakey and form cleaning toilets

* * *

I haven't spoken to Seto since we've kissed.

I've avoided him, really. It's not hard to do considering how he works himself until he's weak, grouchy and struggling to hold a pen steady because of the level of caffeine his veins. Seto has no outlet, nothing to relieve the stress boiling just under his well polished exterior. There's a fearful beauty in something so _alive _and fiery, and it reminds me just how dead and empty I feel without him.

Even though Seto spends his days drowning in the oceans of paper work and endless meetings, he always stops in for a few coveted moments with Mokuba during the evenings. It's never nearly long enough for either of them and as Seto struggles to bed, Mokuba is left on his own, doodling a superhero called "Kaibaman" and staring into the night with large, lonely eyes.

Mokuba is starving for any attention his brother will give him. My heart pangs because I see myself in him: a small, lonely kid who wants nothing more than sibling closeness and all the comforts and stability it brings. I find myself more and more attached to him, and I try my best to give him the praise and attention that we both crave.

Seto was my first kiss, and the magic and the realness of it has created a sharp divide in my mind. My heart soared and flip-flopped, but when it landed I was faced the stark reality of what had happened. In realistic terms, I'm nothing to him. I can just imagine the regret he has about me. I'm a child in his mind— only two or three years older than his younger brother – and it's evident in my stick straight figure and juvenile fantasies.

_You're fragile. _Seto told me that.

Seto told me I was beautiful too, But he also used the word _despondent. _Despondent brings about imagines of poor hapless souls, wondering around in the bleak grayness. I guess that's what I am, so why then does that word despondent bring about thoughts of doubt? He still said _beautiful_, but something about the word despondent makes me uneasy.

Everything about him makes me uneasy though. Isn't that what love is about? My emotions are so intense that they are distressing, painful even. _I like him, I love him, I want him. _I can't see the world through right and wrong anymore because there is only _Seto_ and that wonderful comfort that he brings. I can't control the insanity in my heart and I feel utterly powerless against myself.I see Seto in my dreams: standing with his arms crossed and that calm defiant smirk. I wish that I could have that. I wish that he would be the control in my life.

Control isn't always a bad thing, right?

But still Seto kissed me. Intimacy doesn't begin to describe what we shared between us. He opened up to me, and I accepted him. Our minds joined and our lips moved together. For that moment, we were perfectly in synch. So why is it that he won't even look in my direction? Why can't I get the nerve to speak to him?

Was it all imaginary? Am I going crazy? I spend my days walking on glass, tiptoeing around the broken dreams I created for myself. I hold on to what I have, what's concrete and not what I've imagined. I'll always have Joey. He's the only family I have left, and I'll do anything and everything to hold the remnants of this broken family together. I will beg whoever I have to beg, I will do whatever I have to do. We will stay together, even if the world crashes down around us.

I wonder what mom would do if she could see us now: homeless, powerless, and fighting over what to do with what remnants of our lives. What would mom do if she saw me and Joey together? When I was younger, I heard her talking to the gossipy old ladies at the church about Joey was just a "bad seed", and he was destined to be like our father. I look over at Joey. He is not a bad seed. Mom may not have been perfect, but I loved her dearly, and her death has thrown me out of quiet suburbia and into an existence that tethers between gilded luxury and bleak destitution.

"Joey," I finally speak. I look over at him on the opposite end of the couch. He's been so tired recently. It seems like everything good that I feel is being drained from him. My fingernails have grown long and seashell pink, whereas he's looks like they are peeling off his fingertips. I'm finally gaining some healthy weight, whereas he's losing it rapidly. I feel joy, he's perpetually fatigued. Is it that I'm a leech to him?

Joey doesn't make a formal acknowledgement to his name; he just grunts and flips another page in his magazine that I know he's not reading. "How did mom die?" I finally ask.

Joey throws the magazine and it lands on the modern art coffee table. There's a stack of glossy periodicals spread out in a perfect fan. Most have Seto on the cover, and all have some manner of praise for KaibaCorp written across the front in giant block letters. Joey's discarded magazine lands out of line, distorting perfection. I don't like the symbolism.

He meets my eyes and shakes his head. We have the same eyes: hazel with flecks of gold and odd streaks of blues and greens. It's a nice physical affirmation of our familial relation. He is my brother, and despite our spats, we have that sibling that can never be broken. At the moment it may be tense and weak, but the thread that ties us together lives on.

"I don't know," He says quietly.

I purse my lips. "I suppose it doesn't really matter," It doesn't matter really. Whether it was an accident or illness doesn't change the fact that _Mom is dead_, but I'm still here wondering how I'm supposed to start my life over when it hadn't really started for me to begin with. I'm sixteen, and with my extended stints in hospitals for one reason or another, I have no life skills. The best I can do is try to patch together a semi-functioning family from Joey and myself.

Joey shakes his head. "No, I know you. You want to know. I do too. Even if we can't do anything about it now, it's some kind of closure, or whatever you want to call it." He reaches over and squeezes my hand.

Were his hands always this rough? I look down at where his hand rests on my own, and my God they look horrific. He may as well have stuck them in a fire with all the red and flakey irritation that splotches his skin. On the back of my hand, I can feel the roughness and cracks on his palm. It feels scratchy and disgusting like dried snaked skin. "What on earth happened to your hands?"

Joey pulls away quickly. "Chemical burns," He says nonchalantly, as if burning the top layer of his skin off with chemicals is completely normal.

"How did you get a chemical burn?" There's no place he should be that he would be handling substances that abrasive. His hands are atrocious, and even his fingernails are brittle and peeling. I know cleaning products sometimes can chaff your skin, but that's usual only industrial strength and even then his hands are I know Joey's not the type to be doing any cleaning.

"Eh, with me there's no telling. You know I get into stuff."

I say nothing. My heart tells me he's hiding something. Why else would he jerk his hand away from mine so quickly? But at the same time, Joey is a rough and tumble guy – he always has been. He's rambunctious and it's more than possible that he's just damaged his hands more than normal. It doesn't change how horrible they look and feel. Does it hurt him? I hope not. We sit in silence for a while, not knowing what to say.

"I think I know how I can find out about mom." Joey breaks the silence first. He looks at me with a wicked grin. "Mai Valentine"

"The duelist?" I ask. Mai Valentine is the goddess of dueling. She's beautiful, sexy, and talented. She and Seto have crossed paths a few times, and with as attractive and confident as those two are, I wonder why they haven't hooked up. I always feel a little inadequate when I'm near her, but that's quickly forgotten when she shows how warm and open she is.

"Yep, that's her. She's a nurse when she's not trying to rake in quick cash with duels. If mom went to a Domino Hospital, she'd be on record somewhere. I can get Mai to pull the charts."

"That's illegal," I frown.

Joey waves his hand dismissively. "Trust me, I know illegal, and it's only illegal if you get caught,"

It seems like every day that I get reminded of Joey's old life. I know that he "knows illegal", and I'm trying to forget that. Either way, I nod.

"And Mai's a smart girl, she won't let it slip. Besdies do you wanna know or not?"


	15. Mai

Longer Chapter. This is all focused on Joey. It's a character study of sorts that I really hopes sheds some light on his personality and mentality. Diseal Kane is the cannon English name of that guy that ran the gang that Joey was in way back in season zero. You know, the one that tied him up used a stun gun on him? PM me for a link :)

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Mai Valentine works at Domino City's Hospital. Granted, there's more than one hospital around here, because Domino is one huge ass city. You got your East End with its gated communities and perfect little flower beds that look like something straight off a magazine cover. Then you got your West End that's nothing but a concentration of housing projects and scrap yards. Domino City Central Hospital lays cradled right smack in the center of it all. It's one of those healthcare complexes with an ER, a kid's care, some specialists and all that. It's the best of both worlds –The hospital itself isn't in bad shape, and the city blocks around it is middle class, but at the same time open to the poor with its variety of free clinics and subsidized payment plans.

It's been a long series of bus rides from North End where Kaiba stays secluded in his huge ass estate, to Central Domino. I don't go in to the hospital just yet, instead I decide to stand outside of the automatic glass doors for a while to air out the stench of crazy and homeless that seems to gather on city busses.

I'm not sure why I can't make myself go inside the hospital. I'd like to say that's it because of mom. I'd like to make up some physiological bullshit about not wanting to face the finality of her death, but everyone around me knows that's a damn lie. I didn't like Mom. Mom didn't like me. What kind of so called mother leaves her son with a man that she knows is an abusive, drunken bastard?

Meh, I pace around outside for a moment.

There's a girl leaning against the brick of the building, somehow managing to support herself on tiny, lime green stiletto's that seem a lot more like tooth picks than shoes. She's no doubt waiting for her free clinic testing. "Cigarette, baby?" She offers.

"Nah, I quit," I turn my head quickly. The smell of smoke always makes me start craving for nicotine, so I start focusing on other stuff. That girl isn't afraid to flaunt herself. She circles her bright red lips around her cigarette and blows a puff of smoke, before tucking her lighter into the band of her thigh-highs. Sad thing is, I'm not sure if she's a prostitute or middle-schooler. Here lately they all seem to dress alike.

She's not shy about showing her body, and why should she be? The whole damn world is preoccupied with sex. Girls sell it, and guys obsess over it. The world runs because of it. Hell, I'm here because two people couldn't keep their flies shut.

If I've learned anything from my crazy parents and life in general it's that sex is the most awful, filthy thing on earth, made for humiliation and power, but I should save it for the person I love. And that's why I'm going crazy.

Guess that's the consequence of spending my first 7 or so years in a church building where I got told that I needed to save myself for marriage. It started to disgust me when I heard about how a girl can't offer a better gift to her man than her virginity on their wedding night. I mean it really makes me physically sick that we've reduce a woman's worth to that. I'm sorry, but the best gift a woman can offer is herself, and if that includes a mind so filled to the brim with kinky things involving – oh hell, I don't know, _chicken feathers_ – that would make an atheist blush then so be it. But if her mind has nothing but white and purity rings, then that's cool too.

Of course, I spent the next ten years after that with my father, and I grew even more aware that if God created the torso, head, legs and arms, the devil slapped on the genitals. When he wasn't telling me about how big of a whore and bitch my mother was, I ran around with this real nasty bunch. A kid name Diesel was our leader. I walked in on him trying to rape some red-headed chick and I busted his face in. I've seen this kid beat someone's head in with a lead pipe, and I didn't even _flinch – _I held his fucking drink while he did it. But I heard that girl scream, and saw that long red hair and thought of Serenity and I made sure that Diesel felt every punch of my disgust when my fists connected with his jaw.

I mean I used to live a life were anything was game, but to me rape was a special kind of evil.

I couldn't tell you how many nights I sat up at whatever bar or pool hall didn't card us for age, and I'd have to listen to one of my "friends" tell about his sexual exploits of the night. I did my fair share of bragging too. Hell, we'd all flirt with girls, and we'd catch some feels to be cool. I made out with some girls, got some blows, seen some tits, but deep down I was reaching out for something _more. _

I felt that something more with Mai, and it's scary as hell.

When I first saw her all I could think of was "holy hell, she's _fine"_ but the more we started talking, the more I felt _something_ in my heart that I didn't understand. It was a connection, something that linked us. She was warm, and it had been so damn long since I've felt warm. I'm not talking about like a jacket, but warm inside too, like a big cup of hot chocolate. I know I sound like a pansy when I say that, but I just don't know how to describe it. It's scarier than sex, because I had sex figured out.

Adrenaline and power are potent aphrodisiacs, so a few high tense duels later I complicated things by falling into bed with her. I gave my virginity to her, and like the poor bastard I am ruined a beautiful, simple feeling with the tangled web of my hang-ups.

The morning after was awkward mess of finding my pants, and having weird one word conversations while I helped her tie her corset back. We got together twice after that, but I could never talk to Mai the same way again because all I could think of was "_I fucked her,_" I don't know why I can't get love and sex to mix, but because of that I did the worst thing: I started avoided her. In other words, I hit it and quit it like the coward that I am. I wanted to tell her the truth; heck I still wish I could tell her the truth. I'm still just a little boy and can't handle my mess of feelings.

Standing out here next to a whore and a bus stop isn't going to do a damn thing for me. I need to talk to Mai.

I walk through the automatic doors and into the blinding whiteness of the tiled waiting room, and walk to the help desk. I can tell from the décor that they are trying to make the place seem homey with pictures on the walls and vases of fake flowers on the tables, but home doesn't smell like Clorox and ammonia. The smell reminds me of scrubbing those damn toilets at the KiabaCorp tower. I drum what remains of my broken finger nails against the desk while I wait.

A friendly black lady finally comes to help me. "What can I do for you?" She seems sweet enough, but her scrubs say that she's all business when the occasion calls for it.

"Is Amaia Valentine working?"

"Maybe, what you need, hun?"

What do I need? I need money. I need a place to live. I need some damn peace in my life. I need a God and a society that actually cares. In other worlds I need a miracle. Am I settling if I say that speaking to Mai will suffice? Or is she as close to a miracle as I will ever feel? "I just need to talk to her for a sec,"

"We normally don't allow personal visits during shifts, but I'll see if she's busy." She looks me up and down. "You her boyfriend?"

"I'm her –" Well damn, I have to stop short. How the hell am I supposed to answer that? Am I a friend? Boyfriend? Fuck buddy? What am I to her? I'm not sure either of us knows.

The woman doesn't wait for me to answer before she flips on a switch and speaks into the receiver. "Amaia Valentine, your boyfriend is here. Can you come to the waiting room?" The switch clicks back off and the lady smiles at me. "There you go, hun"

God, I can feel t he blood rush to my face. "Y-yeah, thanks," I stammer. I must have some hard-core hang-ups because all my moves feel stupid and awkward as I go sit in those weird plastic-fabric waiting room chairs that I know at least a couple of kids have thrown up on. I'm not sure why I feel like such an idiot when it comes to affection. I just know that I can feel heat rise to my cheeks in an embarrassed fluster that only Mai can cause. God, I hope I'm not an obvious blusher like my sister. I decide to hide my face – and my embarrassment—by looking through some magazines.

I'm not paying any attention to anything but calming my nerves when I reach for the first magazine in the stack. I focus on the cover and realize that I've picked up a hot pink and lime green edition of _Cosmopolitan. _

You wouldn't know by looking at the half-naked woman posing on the cover, but this magazine is actually for women. Makes you wonder why a magazine for chicks has so much about men on the cover? "_Please your man"_ or "_Is your boyfriend ready for commitment."_ And _"Looks that drive men wild!"_

Something actually does catch my eye _"Is your relationship potentially abusive?"_I guess I'm the type that's drawn to dysfunction. I was born into it, I've lived in it, heck I seem to carry dysfunction with me like fleas on a rat. I can't help but skim through the article. It's some type of check lists of bullets for what could potentially lead to abuse.

_* Power imbalance_

_* Age difference_

_* Quick Moving_

_* Past Family Abuse_

_* Isolation from family and friends_

_*Critical of family and friends._

_* Use of force during sexual acts._

Ugh. More sex. I was trying to forget about that.

"Joseph Wheeler!" I know that voice. I look up and my breath catches in my throat. _Mai._ Holy hell, she's fine. That feeling has never faded. I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, a real, honest-to-God smile and not some fake one that I put on as a mask to make my sister feel better. Even in those baggy scrubs she's beautiful. Her hair is still super sexy as it falls from a messy bun. "Let's go outside for a sec, okay?"

And I nod like a little boy, and follow her like a puppy.

As soon as we cross the threshold she turns to me and throws her arms around me. "Where've you been, sugar?" She hugs me tighter and I can feel her soft breasts pushing against my chest. God she smells good, like sweet vanilla and sugar cookies and candy and dreams and happiness.

I try to restrain myself, but I can help but put my hands on her hips. Mai has the body of a woman, nice rounded hips and curved in all the right places. She's soft everywhere: her creamy skin, her warm voice, everything. She's so different from me that I feel like it's a sin to touch her with the hands that are burned from toilet cleaners.

"How's my favorite little jailbait?" She asks when she finally steps back from me. Her voice trills up and down with playful tones.

I make a face. "I'm eighteen, you know that"

"Who said I was talking about you? Your little sister is a doll, you know," Mai laughs at her own joke. It's a hearty, sensual laugh. "Why don't you come around more, Joey?" She's still all smiles. I find it amazing that she can just talk to me so openly even though I slept with her and ran. How can she asks that question and not have it full of bitterness?

"I guess I've been too fuckin' busy," I say, trying to play it cool, though I don' know why. Mai can tear my defense, and break me down to my most scared little self that I had tried to bury a long time ago.

"Or was it vice versa?"

Yeah, like that.

I like Mai, I really do, but it's so damn hard. Mai shows affection through sex. I don't think she knows another way.. But just once, I'd love to just sit down and be with her, to enjoy her company without the complications thrown in. I know she doesn't mean to make me uncomfortable. She's a sensual being, it's not her fault that I can't handle myself. She's just trying to show the she feels something towards me.

"Hey, did you get what I asked for?" I say, trying to change the subject away from my raging emotions. I swear I'm like a girl sometimes.

Mai suddenly becomes somber, and she looks both ways. It's a type of illicit deal, but we aren't trading pills, but information. "Yeah, I got it, I read everything,"

I wait, but she doesn't continue. She looks down and bites her lip. "Come on," I prompt. Whatever it is, she's hesitant about spilling the beans. "I'm a big boy; you don't need to protect me from anything,"

Mai crosses her arms. "It just doesn't make any sense," She's shaking her head as she stares through me with those unnatural violet eyes. "She died from blood loss and trauma. Officially, she was hit by a car. I read through that chart so many times, and I just don't understand. Crushed limbs, head trauma, a broken sternum – what kind of car does that type of damage? I've taken patients who have been doing illegal racing at 12omphs that haven't been that mangled."

I cringe. Mom may not have been my favorite person, but I'd never wish for her to be disfigured beyond recognition. Besides Kaiba, there are very few people that I hate enough for them to want to suffer. "She didn't have a chance, did she?"

Mai shakes her head, and the fuzzy waves from her bun fall in front of her face. "She might as well have hit a brick wall. The only thing I can figure out is that it would have to be some type of armored vehicle or military hummer. There's no name. Makes me wonder why it wasn't included, but it's probably for the best." She pauses. "The state had her cremated,"

"T-thanks, Mai" She's looking up at me with those eyes that can pierce through my cloudy excuse for a soul. I dart my eyes from her face, to the wall, to the brick, anywhere but her eyes. I'm afraid I'll see so much anger there. It's anger I deserve, but I don't want to see anything negative cloud those beautiful eyes.

I need to clear the air of gray cloud of sex and betrayal. "Mai," I start.

To my surprise, Mai throws her arms around me again "I'm so sorry, Joseph," She whispers. Her voice is sweet like honey suckles. She's the only person that I don't mind if they use my full name. It's my dad's name after all, but it doesn't matter what Mai calls me as long as she is talking to me.

Mai slides her arms down my shoulders and grabs both of my hands. "But I got to get back to work, okay? If you need me, I'm here." She pecks her lips against my cheek, and I'm stunned into stillness. What was she apologizing for? My mother? My situation? My own jerk-moves?

Mai walks away from me and I watch her hips sway until she walks through the automatic glass doors, and becomes just a dot in the distant hallway.

I stand still, almost afraid to move. I don't want this sensation to die. It's sad really, because when I'm near Mai I realize all that I've been without. When she's gone there this hole inside my chest that only her voice and smell and smile can fill.

I would keep this moment, this feeling alive in my heart forever because it's pure, unlike me.


End file.
